La Belle Vie
by Morbid DramaQueen10
Summary: "It seemed like, just maybe, we were the furthest thing from blessed – cursed. Destined to live and die in ruins.But even so… We were blessed. Our rewards were coming. Comfort ...mercy... justice... All that we had been promised in exchange for our suffering. It simply wasn't coming in that particular lifetime." E/E, AU, Modern setting.
1. Something Not Yet Clear

**So, I saw the movie last Monday. Mind you, I've never been the slightest bit inclined to see Les Mis, or listen to the soundtrack. Even though I'm a huge fan of theater, Broadway and West End, etc, Les Mis was never something I had any desire to see. My only exposure to it was the Liam Nealson movie in my sophomore World History class. **

**But then I saw the movie musical. And bought the album. And researched the book.**

**Boy, did I fall hard. **

**Anyways. I've read a lot of E/E fanfiction over the last week, but nothing has satisfied me. So, I've turned to writing my own. Of course. **

**Just a warning – this piece is AU, as it's setting is in modern times. Also, I'm only in my second semester of college, so updates might not be oh-so-frequent as I'd like. But, I've got an outline and a passion, so we'll see. This shouldn't be more than about 12-15 chapters.**

**DISCLAIMER: Les Mis isn't mine. Neither are the characters. **

**La Belle Vie**

**-XXX-**

A hush fell between the two people as gently as a blanket placed over a sleeping child by a loving mother. For a long moment, neither the young man nor the young woman spoke. In the pause, feet were shuffled, nervous glances exchanged, lips bitten. She put hands to her temple, massaging the coil of nerves. Finally, the young man spoke –

"But, _why?" _

His voice was a low murmur, yet clipped and articulate. This was a fellow who emulated care – in his appearance and manner, in the world, for others. Passion poured from his every pore when it chanced to sting him, and he was ought to be fevered with violently zealous speeches on a variety of causes – mostly social – on a regular basis.

"I don't know." She paused. "Perhaps we're being punished. Or given a chance," her lips twisted as she added irony to her tone. "For missing the boat in the last lifetime."

He glanced up sharply. "So, you do believe it, then? That we're merely recycled bits of another life. Reincarnated." Bitterness and excitement both tinged his voice. "Brought back by fate to play out miserable lives again – for what?"

"Do you really think that?" she asked softly.

"That our lives were miserable?"

"Yes," Eveline concurred. "And that they _are _miserable?"

Quietly, Leo said, "I think perhaps they were. Else…else we wouldn't be here now. For the moment however…." He met her eyes, smiling faintly. "No. I'm not miserable."

**-XXX-**

_Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. _

_Blessed are the meek: for they shall possess the land. _

_Blessed are they who mourn: for they shall be comforted. _

_Blessed are they that hunger and thirst after justice: for they shall have their fill. _

_Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy. _

_Blessed are the clean of heart: for they shall see God. _

_Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God._

_Blessed are they that suffer persecution for justice' sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. _

_ I never thought myself to be one to be blessed in any manner. After we lost the inn, after we moved to Paris, after we took refuge on the city streets among the underworld of criminals, no part of my life was blessed. My only ray of sunshine was a certain Pontmercy – but it was light that wasn't to fall on me. It was merely light that would pass by, occasionally gracing me with a few seconds of warmth. A smile. Or, perhaps, a kind word._

_ That light was for another. _

_ Enjolras didn't have a very blessed existence, either. Dead by twenty-one for a cause that he wouldn't see through. Disowned by a family he'd never really known. So devoted to the disillusioned city, so impassioned by the cries of his Patria that he would never live to see a settled life, nor any life at all. _

_ It seemed like, just maybe, we were the furthest thing from blessed – cursed. Destined to live and die in ruins._

_ But even so…_

_ We were blessed. Our rewards were coming. Comfort, mercy, justice. All that we had been promised in exchange for our suffering. _

_ It simply wasn't coming in that particular lifetime. _

**-XXX-**

Marcus is the one I notice first. In fact, Marcus is the one I _always_ notice. We could be in a canyon in pitch darkness along with a thousand other people and I would still manage to notice Marcus. I could be blind and I would still sense him. He could walk around in a ski mask and wearing one of those cloaks the weird kids from the _Dungeons and Dragons _wear all the time and I would still recognize him. From the first day we met, at orientation over the summer before our freshman year, I've been drawn to Marcus.

He smiles when he sees me, warm as ever, the green irises lighting up as the corners of his eyes crinkle. But he says nothing, merely waves. At the moment it would appear he's wrapped up in a conversation with his lean friend.

The friend I notice second – but only after my flash of resentment, like every other time his attention is taken from me, a pitiful result of my less-than-healthy infatuation with Marcus.

It's the red scarf that catches my eye – a scrap of a thing, once, perhaps, a rich burgundy, but now faded with years and washings. Against the dark brown of his coat, it stands out, leading the eye upwards. If, by chance you brave it, you might meet the eyes of the scarf's owner. These eyes can be described in variety of ways, numerous lovely metaphors could be used to conceive them, but only a few scatterings of adjectives will I use: Bright. Flashing. Intense.

And a crystalline shade of blue-gray.

My mouth half-opens. I feel the pressing need to say _something_. Yet nothing comes to mind. I'm left looking like a fish. Snapping my jaw shut, I sit up a little, shifting the books on my lap. The guy continues regarding me, following my motions though he's still talking to Marcus. After about thirty seconds of eye contact – heavy emphasis on the _contact _– I drop my gaze. I've got some Mead to focus on at the moment for my Anthro class. Unsettled, I allow myself to be tentatively immersed in the text once again. _"Stupid, for letting yourself get distracted again." _If I didn't pay attention, my grades would slip again from trying to gain Marcus's affections. Two semesters ago I nearly dropped down to a 3.4 GPA after I all but stopped my Italian homework so as to tutor Marcus in Environmental Studies and Biology. _"Never again." _My scholarships wouldn't hold out if I dipped below a 3.5 again.

"It's only the first official day of the semester. Eveline, do you ever stop reading?"

I jolt at the sound of my name, almost dropping the textbook. Somehow I manage to fumble enough to keep it in my hand. "Well," I gasp. "Some of us want to graduate in two years."

"Something you'll never achieve if you keep going on this way," a dry voice says, and I realize Marcus's companion, the one with the scarf, has joined us.

Marcus takes a seat beside me on the bench, crooked smile sliding into place. "I don't know what you're talking about."

His friend rolls his eyes, though there is a slightly smirk-y purse to his lips. "Grant was not the only one black-out wasted last Saturday."

"No," Marcus agrees. "He was not. Drunk is no fun alone, Mr. Enjolras."

"I wouldn't know," says the man named Enjolras. "Drinking is no sport to me. So I have no opinion on the matter."

"None whatsoever?" I ask, brows rising.

Both look at me, surprised.

"Not one I'd care to share," he replies finally. "Marc, who is your friend?"

Marcus blinked once, twice, before saying quickly, "Eveline! Leo, this is Eveline, Eveline, Leo. She lives in Franklin with me," he explains. "We've known each other since freshman year. Evie, this is the illustrious and charming Leopold Enjolras. We're in Senate together."

"Oh," I say politely. There's not much else I can remark upon. "Hello."

"Pleasure," Leopold Enjolras returns shortly.

"Enjolras," I continue after a pause. "Is that…Spanish?"

"French," he corrects. "Though, not too common of French."

"Ah, that's interesting…."

He grins. It's relatively genuine, lighting up his entire face. "Well. Not really."

We laugh.

"Call me Leo," he says.

"I rather like Enjolras." It's almost said with the litheness of teasing. Almost.

And just like that, we're friends.

**-XXX-**

** "**_Eight-thirty seems awful early for any class,"_ I thought as I slid into the desk. But Dr. Valerius's Philosophy and Ethics in Literature promises to be fantastic. I'd had several of his courses last year. He's always been phenomenal. Last year he'd told our Eastern Religions class that all he required of us was our minds – no tests, no quizzes. The only thing we absolutely had to do to pass the class was write a twenty-page essay on the religion of our choosing, including a description of our own intimate connection with it.

Fifteen of the thirty-five students switched out the next day. "That's okay," Valerius said, winking at us. "I prefer small classes."

The entire course was a series of conversations, a few guest speakers, several videos, and dramatic readings of religious script courtesy of the professor. We wrote our paper, which was only fifteen pages, and left with a significantly deeper understanding of Eastern culture.

I am anticipating a similarly fulfilling experience.

It's eight-fifteen. The room is empty, save for sunlight, a scattering of desks, and myself. I appreciate the peace. With a happy sigh, I remove a pen and notebook from my backpack. Opening the book, I inhale the scent of new paper. In a light scrawling print I write the title of the class, my name, along with the date. It takes some time, and I become so focused I do not take notice when someone else enters the classroom, nor when that someone takes a seat beside me. It's only when the elbow brushes mine that I notice.

I look up, abruptly torn from my focus. A pair of amused blue eyes greets me. Enjolras.

"Are you always this unaware?" he asks.

"I thought it'd be awhile before anyone came in," I confess. "Sorry."

"No need to apologize." He examines me. "Up a little early, aren't you."

"So are you. You're taking Valerius's Philosophy in Lit course?"

"Yeah," he says, sounding a little surprised. His desk shifted so that we had a better view of one another. "Why, not what you'd expect to be my cup of tea?"

Biting my lip, I shrug. Actually, what is really surprising me is his candid behavior – he's being almost friendly, really. That's what was unexpected. When I met him yesterday, he'd struck me as a little aloof. Cold. But I don't say this.

"Not really, no. I mean –"

"Didn't think I'd be so deep?" One brow rises. Leo tilts his face back, giving me an excellent view of his profile. "I'm offended, Eveline."

I grin. "Well. You just seemed more like the…science-y type, to me."

"I'll have you know I am a _very _deep person."

"Oh, I'm sure," I assure him. "What's your major?"

"Political Science and Philosophy, minoring in Sociology. I'm kind of pre-law," he explains.

"Interesting combination."

He's wearing the scarf again. It looks good against the fawn-coloured coat and his dark jeans. In fact, all of Enjolras looks quite good. Then, I remember who he's friends with, the thing that connects us – _"Marcus." _Guilt rises to my throat. _"Oh, but you're not even dating him!" _I scold myself. _"You can appreciate other guys." _

"Yes, I thought so," he agrees. "They are fields that interest me. And what about you?"

"Ah, English, Religions, minoring in Sociology too, actually." I half-smile, biting my lip. "That's funny."

"Now that is truly an interesting combination," he remarks. "Mine interrelate closely…but yours…well. It could be a stretch. We're hard workers, then, you an I. Double majors and minors. What are you going to do with that?"

"Oh, I don't know." By now other students are starting to shuffle in. Many are clutching cardboard cups of coffee, others tall cans of energy drinks. This reminds me of my water bottle. I stoop to remove it from the mesh pocket on my backpack. "Probably go to grad school. Then…I have no clue."

"Just leaving your life up to chance?"

I grin. "Yeah. Pretty much."

He opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, Professor Valerius sweeps in. He's wearing a long woolen coat, grey, a white shirt, suspenders, a bow tie, and black ankle boots. A worn messager bag is all but thrown upon the table – it's ancient, probably older than Jon Valerius himself, the leather cracked and discolored. The flap falls open, allowing a few volumes a papers to spread upon the desk. Valerius heads straight for the board. Without so much as a pause to take attendance or survey the class, he scrawls the title of the course and his own name down in chalk. Then he turns to the podium – to us.

"As a three-hundred-level course, this class will be challenging. And as students at this fine establishment, and students taking a three-hundred-level Philosophy course, I am sure you are prepared to be challenged. In fact, I am very sure you're prepared to face challenges from me. However, I'm not going to be the one to challenge you, exactly. You are going to challenge each other, yourselves.

"Now, before we learn each others' names and other quaint details, please pull out a sheet of paper and write down the ten more philosophic texts, specifically pieces of literature – stories, poems, the like. For the first part of this semester we'll be focusing on the philosophic portion of text, next part the ethical. So, commence!"

I automatically spit out six titles, then spend the next three minute contemplating the rest. Beside me, Enjolras has completed his list. He's looking over my shoulder, reading my titles. A smile tugs at his lips. I ignore him.

We then submit our lists. Valerius briefly peruse the, before looking back to the class. "Next class I will compile a list from yours. You will sign-up for a book you are unfamiliar with, group with others to read it, then present the philosophic themes. We'll split the presentation up between genres – metaphysical and so on. We shall do this three-to-four times before tackling ethics."

When class is dismissed, I slowly pack my bag. Enjolras lingers with me.

"So…you look forward to the presentations?"

I nod, swinging my backpack onto my shoulder. "Why do you ask?"

"Because you were practically beaming through his outline of the class," he says, lips pursing. He briefly tugs at his scarf. We exit the room together, talking all the while. Enjolras is also excited about the project. We discuss the possible novels we might choose from, the types of presentations, and then our majors. We end up in the Union, in line for coffee at the café.

"Don't you have class?" I ask, after turning from the counter. The barista has already taken his order.

"Not for another hour or so," he assures me. "And I've nothing else to do."

My nose crinkles. "Thanks."

He laughs at that. "I mean, I'd love it if you could trouble yourself to entertain me."

People don't typically come to me to talk. I'm not a…_conversationalist. _It's not a characteristics I've been attributed with before. So I'm surprised. But happily so. Once we have our drinks in hand – blackberry sage tea for Leo, mocha for me – we head to the cluster of armchairs and couches in the big Georgian room. I settle into a chair, Leo following suit.

"You're quite good at this – Philosophy, I mean. I find non-majors are not so invested in conversations such as these," he says when we've reached the dregs of our drinks. "You, my friend, have left the cave to see the light."

"I'm on the tip of the rabbit's fur," I tell him, referring to _Sophie's World._

"'Ladies and gentlemen, we are floating in space!'"

We share a smile.

For a moment, we are silent. Enjolras appears to be considering something, his brow furrowed. He snags one of my napkins and pulls a pen from his coat pocket. He begins to write. I wait, running a finger along the edge of black plastic lid of my coffee. Since we've spent time together today, I've noticed a slight edge to him – a bitterness. He is friendly enough. But certain topics spark a crystalline hardness in his gaze. I've noticed, just in the last hour and a half alone, any mention of school administration cause him to clench fists. Finally, he speaks.

"You…should come to one of our meetings." The napkin is pushed across the small sidetable between us. "I think there's a lot your could contribute. You're progressive….we need people like that."

"_Friends of ABCs," _it reads. _"Nine o'clock. Tuesdays and Thursdays at Muse Diner." _Then there is a number.

"My cell," he explains. "And you already have Marcus's, I'm sure."

I do. At Marcus's name, my heart flutters. "He's in it?"

"Yeah, he's kind of an executive member." Enjolras stands to go, coiling the scarf 'round his neck. "You should come."

"Yes, but, what's it for? What's the aim?"

He's impassive. "We're just a group of undergrads demanding change. You'll see. Come."

"I'll try," I promise.

With that, we depart for our respective classes.

**-XXX-**

Later I will note the thin features, a weary tightness to his face – along with the more attractive aspects. Such as unruly hair the colour of caramel and intensely brilliant eyes, a certain sharpness about his checks and chin, the way his smiling is almost blindingly handsome - on the rare chance that he actually smiles. But that's only later.

**-XXX-**

**Reviews would be grand, especially considering this is the first time I've written in this category. Questions, comments, critiques, I take 'em all! **

**Also….**

_**Sophie's World**_** is a fantastic book that details the history of philosophy, as well as teaching so of the basic schools of it. I highly recommend checking it out. It's probably something you'll want to read more than once – in an Inception-kind-of-way.**


	2. Escape Now From That World

**Escape Now From That World**

**I probably could have spilt this into two chapters. But I think that would've thrown off the flow. **

**The response has been nice, but more feedback would always be great! **

**-XXX-**

Later that night, around seven, I receive a text from Marcus. As soon as I see his name appear on the screen, I lunge for my phone.

_"Hey there Evie!"_it reads. _"Leo told me he'd invited you to our meetings! Are you coming tonight? Also, are you taking Stats this semester? Would you mind studying with me? You know how I am, that stuff goes right over my head. You're so good at explaining things." _ Then there is a smiley face.

I am disappointed. As I almost always am, when Marcus texts. With a sigh, I reply, fingers flying across the keys.

_"Sorry, I can't make it tonight. Ttyl." _ I say nothing of Statistics. Then, I turn back to my Sociology reading.

**-XXX-**

This time, I'm actually looking at the door when he walks in. He surveys the room before catching my gaze. Our eyes grow wide. Leo's lips twist in something akin to amusement and he nods. Then, the young man proceeds to thread his way through the desks, coming towards me. He claims the desk beside mine, quickly removing his books and a few pencils, then rights himself.

"Revolutionary History, eh?" he asks. "Not what I'd picked for an English and Sociology major."

I shrug. "Liberal arts education, what can I say?"

"Well, that makes two classes we have together, Ms. –" Enjolras pauses. "You know, I don't know your last name."

"Theard," I supply. "You weren't in here Monday, were you?"

"Yes. But you probably didn't notice me."

The professor arrives then. It's far more standard of a start this time – attendance is taken, the syllabus is passed out (Selznick being one of those professors who only hands out the syllabus on the second class period, just in case kids decide to drop after the first day), reviewed, questions asked. We quickly find out that this class will also be requiring a project. It's a little more long-term, starting the second month of the semester and spanning to finals week.

"A presentation of a rebellion," Selznick explained. "Not American. I will require a profile of victims from both sides, primary resources. You must cover the uprising, it's organization, and the leaders, along with the aftermath – any social or governmental change. We're specifically talking about rebellions, violent ones, in this class. The majority of the time spent in class will review the psychology of rebellions, the traits that make them neither battles nor wars. We'll be tackling these projects to get more in-depth views of specific instances in history. I'd like to have you in pairs so as to get an even distribution of our presentations. Next month you will sign up off of a list of rebellions. Now, I see that there are a few of you who I remember for last semester's Art of War course…"

Enjolras and I exchange a glance. His lips twitch, mouthing _"Partners?"_

I'm surprised – but pleasantly so. _"Me?" _Gesture to myself.

He rolls his eyes. _"Yes, you."_

It's then that Selznick calls out, "Mr. Enjolras! Another returning student of mine!"

Enjolras turns his attention to the professor, smiling lightly. "Glad to be back, Doctor."

When her attention is directed toward another, Enjolras turns back to me, brows raised. I sigh, flipping opening my notebook, selecting a fresh page.

_"Might as well." _

He gives me a very severe look. I smile back. _"Yes. That sounds fantastic." _

With great ease, he slides the notebook over, uncapping his own pen to write, _"I'm quite the fan of American history."_

_ "Pity," _I write. _"Because we're not allowed to do US history." _

_ "I _know. _How do you feel about French?" _

_ "Hm. We'll talk about it."_

_ "Fair enough."_

After class, Enjolras hung back as I packed away my things. "Have you thought anymore about the meeting? You didn't come Tuesday…."

"I was…thinking about it."

"You aren't one for hasty decisions, are you?" he asks.

I shrug. We exit the classroom together, walking slowly down the fluorescently bland corridor.

"Not really," I say. "I'm mean…I don't do well with immediate action. I'm all about the hesitation."

He gives me a side-long glance. "I can tell. Is that why Coleen snapped Marcus up before you could?"

Floored, I freeze. A guy walking behind me sighs loudly, pushing past. Gracefully, Leo directs me to a nook near a few offices and into one of the worn couches. He crouches before me, pressing back his amusement with an attempt at looking grave.

"How do you know?" I whisper. I was fairly certain no one was around. Though, if Leo is right, my infatuation is obvious enough there's no true reason to hide it.

"It's fairly obvious, Eveline," he replies quietly. "I mean, the mere mention of his name makes you blush. You practically stare at him whenever he's around. And I can't think of any other Eveline he knows who would tutor him…I know Marcus, he's got no mind for science. It would've taken some dedicated tutor to bring him up to even a B. But you got him to an A. That's some dedication."

"Yeah. Real devotion…."

He meets my eyes. "Why? I mean, he's infatuated with Coleen. You can see that. And you still moon over him. He told me you're probably going to tutor him in Stats this semester."

Bitterly, I look away. "You can't control who you love. I've tried to stop – dated other guys, stayed away. But it's hard. And he's my friend. I know it's a lost caused, Enjolras."

He shakes my hands, meeting my eyes to hold gazes once more. "Just as long as you know it. You're too nice of a girl to stay starry-eyed over someone who will never love you back."

I laugh roughly. "You're right. But…it's not so easy."

His expression tells me he knows. Somehow, he is more than aware of the struggle it is to throw off unwanted attraction.

"Just…don't torture yourself over it," he says. "Marcus is too dense for you, anyways."

"Okay," I manage, trying a half-smile.

"Okay," he says back.

He helps me to my feet. "Not so traumatic, huh?"

"No," I admit. "But I still can't quite believe it's that obvious."

"Well," Leo drawls. "Not _that _obvious…give me some credit for observation and insight."

"I think I can do that."

"Good. Where are you headed?"

It's then that my phone rings. I start at the sound, then drop my bag and stoop to scoop it out of the front pocket. Seeing as I literary never get calls I hardly ever even think to turn the sound off. _"Thank God that didn't happen in class," _I think with a wince. I click accept without even looking at the name.

"Hello?"

"Evie?" slurs the responding voice. My father. It's my father. I nearly drop the phone from shock. We haven't spoken in months. I spent the summer and this recent winter break with my sister Alice and brother Caleb three towns away. Last I knew, he was states away – just how we like it.

Another shock – today is just loaded with them. I gesture to Enjolras – _"I've got to go, sorry!" _– then turn away. My father continues stumbling through words.

"Evie…where are you, girl?" he bawls. I wince, the sound piercing.

"I'm at school," I say lowly. "You know that, Dad."

"I need money," he says bluntly, without any of his usual charm or confidence. He's typically a little more eloquent in his approach.

"Well, I don't have any," I reply, equally blunt. "Sorry, but I'm a little out of work, at the moment."

It's a lie – I have a decent 10-hours-a-week university job, but most of that money goes towards tuition. Tuition that, if the state doesn't start throwing some money towards the universities, will just keep rising. There is no way I could send my father anything, even if I wanted to. And I certainly don't want to.

He lets out a string of curses, blasting myself and my sister, before hanging up. By now I'm just outside of my residential hall. I slide my phone back into its pocket. Then, I enter my suite, climb into bed, and sleep until dinner.

**-XXX-**

The diner is a short walk away – three blocks from campus, on the city square. Thursday night I bundle up and make the trek, entirely uncertain of what I might find. Though I'd peppered Enjolras with questions earlier that day in class, I hadn't managed to get a single detail from him. He had simply said "_Come, and you'll see." _He isn't big on details, Enjolras. I wondered if it was simply hard to explain, or if he thinks details will ward me off.

The walk is nice. While it's painfully cold out at the moment, the slap of fresh chilled air wakes me up. And the silent ten minutes the trek grants me is just enough time to consider Enjolras's words. Specifically, Enjloras's words about Marcus.

_"You're too nice of a girl…."_

Maybe he's right. But there's little I can do.

The diner is crowded. Nearly every red-pleather stood along the counter has been claimed, and most of the chrome-edged tables and booths are full. I scan the room for family faces before spotting a waving Marcus. He's beaming. I edge through the sea of tables to meet him.

"Evie, you made it!"

"Yeah," I say awkwardly, pulling my purse closer to me, and unbuttoning my jacket. "I'm here."

"You're lucky, tonight we've got a lot of new people besides you. Enjolras can explain things, then."

_"Explain what?" _I think, apprehensive.

"C'mon, come meet everyone."

Approximately fifteen guys and four girls sit among four booths, the corner booth being massive enough to house six. Enjolras is settled smack in the middle. He lifts his glass to me. It's filled with soda, whereas I see nearly all the others sip from pints of beer or chipped white mugs of coffee. Marcus gives me a side hug before swinging us 'round to face the others. I blush at the contact, hoping the red neon lights that edge the ceiling and above counter casts enough of a sanguine glow to dissuade people of the heat around my face.

"Everyone, this is Eveline," Marcus declares. _"Everyone" _alternatively nods, or lifts their glasses. I wave. Marcus goes through the line, but I only recognize or manage to maintain the name of several people – mostly because they live in our dorm, have a few classes with me, or are simply familiar around campus. Joe. Leigh I've known since freshman year – he's pre-med. Grant I know too, and Brad, but peppy blonde Courtney Philips is a new face, as is the handsome Charles who sits next to Enjolras. Jami (pronounce jah-me) too is another I do not know. Her dusky skin hints at Indian origin. Her hand rests on a boy named Philip's open palm. They both smile. Everyone is very friendly.

Well, almost.

"You're late," Enjolras drawls. I nearly don't recognize his voice it's so…commanding. Deeper than what I'm use to. A wing of blond curls fall over half of his face. His hair looks remarkably mussed. Face impassive, he watches me with crystal eyes.

I frown at him. "I was held up, sorry," I say, thinking back to my call with Alice. She called just before I left my dorm. Apparently Dad had given her a ring too. Frustrated, she stayed on the line with me for twenty minutes while I passed off reassurances. The call ended in tears, but we both hung up feeling better. Sisterly support meant the world.

"No matter…sit down…."

Marcus takes me by the shoulder, guiding into the biggest booth where he sits with Jami, Philip, Courtney, Charles and Enjolras. Joe Leigh is directly behind us, and leans back, half-turned, so that he might better hear the group. A waitress is waved over, and my order is taken – just coffee, but Marcus wheedles to buy me a slice of pie, saying I look overworked and famished. I wince. _"That's just what a girl wants to hear." _I relent when he offers to pay for me.

"It's, like, two dollars Evie," he says. "Besides, I totally owe you for all the tutoring you've done for me."

Finally, the waitress leaves to fill the order. Once she's a fair distance away, the whole group seems to converge, leaning in. All seem to be breathless, staring at Enjolras.

"_He's their leader?" _I wonder. I don't know him well, but Leo being the head honcho of any group strikes me as –

And then he began to speak.

I can see now that PolySci completely fits him.

With gifted oration, Leo Enjolras holds the attention of our section of the diner with great ease. "Ladies and gentlemen. We've felt the pressure of tuition for a long time now. But, as many of you are aware, if we're not proactive, the very state that says the only way we'll make anything of ourselves with a college degree will make it virtually impossible for many of our peers to complete their education, and many of those younger than us unable to even be admitted into any higher education system. Those on the state legislature are tottering awfully close to cutting state financial aid and funding not only to the institution all of us attend, but many more around the state. This can only progress to a federal level – grants, awards, cut. If we do not take a stand against this legislation, we'll see a good third of our campus dropping out or working themselves to death trying to pay for a degree our modern society now says we can't live without. I don't know about you, but I won't stand for this."

"But what of the administration?" Charles asks quietly. Somehow, I feel as though he already knows the answer. "Surely they're talking to our senators –"

"They're doing no such thing," Enjolras assures him darkly. "We're on our own. We have a few supporters in the state congress, but not nearly enough. Furthermore, there has been nearly no press coverage of this issue."

I almost gasp. _"No press?" _How the hell was anyone going to get on board if they didn't know about it? And how had this – if it were indeed true – progressed so far without media attention?

I think about my own bills and debt – which had increased far more this semester than I'd predicted. A few of my grants had failed to come in full. If any of my scholarships were cut even a little I'd probably have to take on another job, rather than put myself into further debt. _"Maybe he's right." _

"Therefore," Enjolras continues. "We're going to put the spotlight on us. We're going to stage protests across the state."

"Us?" A voice from the back of the group.

"Not just us. There are other groups across the state, just like us, comprised of students who want to see change, who want to be proactive. The plan is to compose a massive protest. Every campus – same day, same time. Same message." He says these last words with such emphasis I shiver. "We'll rise together. Get their attention. And get some change. No one should have to starve themselves for an education. No person should be forced to put themselves into a life's worth of debt simply so that they might make something of themselves!

At this there was a murmur of agreement.

"Tell them the plan," urges Joe Leigh.

Charles nods in agreement. "The plan, Leo."

"Very well." He pauses. Unlike the rest of us, he'd noticed the waitress returning with pie and a coffee pot. She makes the rounds of refills after setting the slice of French Silk before me. I wonder why they feel the need to be so low-key. I mean, this is America. Free speech is kind of a natural right. "_But maybe they're worried that the administration would freak if they caught wind of Enjolras's scheme."_

Once she is out of earshot, he begins. "We shall begin in a quiet manner – a murmur here and there, the occasional sidewalk chalk riddle. Then, we'll really start bringing the message to light. First, flyers." A few dubious glances are exchanged at this.

"They'll get attention. Unauthorized flyers or posters," pipes up Courtney. "Aren't allowed. You have to get the administration and Student Union's approval before you're technically allowed to put any up. Technically," she says again, grinning. "They'll have to take them down. But we'll just put more up. _Lots_ more. We'll paper the place. You won't be able to go five feet without seeing another one. They'll be in dorms, the library, in classrooms, on bulletin boards, in the Union, all the dining halls, the cafes….."

"Then, we'll turn to the internet. Mass emails. Every campus participating has someone who is enough of a techie to hack the school's email system and send out a mass alert to the entire student body. Everyone will know. With the email we'll include links to the few reliable news sources that have reported on this issue, along with our own web site. Then, we'll take things to another level." His eyes are serious, stone-like as they scan the group. "Off-campus rallies. We'll meet in a park, or other public ground. We'll let them all know what's at risk. Then, hopefully, we can recruit more to stand with us on D-Day."

"D-Day?" someone asks.

"Protest Day," he says. "Or night. But…well. We'll discuss that later. Let's just say, it's our grand finale. _l'extrémité. _The end. I hope to have over two hundred of us out there, over a thousand across the state, rallying together for our cause, for our futures!" His voice thundered. "Then, they shall have to listen. They must here. We won't let them ignore us anymore."

The small crowd enthusiastically agrees.

"Shall you all be Friends of the ABCs? Friends to the first steps of affordable education?"

There is agreement all around. Glasses are raised. Faces beam. Courtney, who appears to be something of a secretary, moves around the booths, taking down names and contact information. We're told not to use the campus Gmail for ABC business. "But feel free to check out our twitter," she announces. "At-Friends-Underscore-of-Underscorce-ABC. The ABC is all capitalized. "

As I don't have a twitter, I don't take the name down or commit it to memory. I do sign up for the mass text-alerts, however. Another meeting is scheduled for this coming Tuesday. The group hangs around for another hour or so before people begin to filter out in twos and threes. I am left with Enjolras, Courtney, Charles, and Marcus.

Enjolras is speaking lowly with Courtney and Charles. Marcus and I are ostracized to the outskirts of the big booth. I'm still working on the pie, nibbling on forkfuls. Marcus speaks quickly, excitable. He's happy, he tells me, that I've decided to join.

"Where is Coleen?" I ask between bites. "She…isn't involved?"

He falters, slightly, in his excitement. "No…it's not really…her thing. You know." He smiles slightly. "She's into the art thing. Not so much protests and what not. But, she said she'd design our flyers! And the posters or whatever other graphics we might need."

"That's cool," I say. Coleen's always been really artistic.

I know this because we've known each other since we were kids – her mother lost custody when Coleen was four, and she was sent to us. My parent had, by some twist of cruel fate, been approved to take in foster kids. Of course, Mom and Dad were scamming the system. Hardly any of the checks coming in for Coleen's care actually went toward her care – she wore Goodwill, took her books to school in a cheap tote bag, and ate canned dinners away from us.

Then Dr. Valerius – the same Jon Valerius whose Philosophy in Literature class Enjolras and I are in – came to our house one day with adoption papers and a state working, claiming Coleen's mother was gone and that she wanted him to take Coleen. Of course, my parents were distraught; they would be losing a part of their income. It took some persuading before they were convinced to even talk about adoption.

When I got to college, I was shocked to find Coleen in my public speaking class. Apparently, she was studying art, specifically graphic design, and still lived with Valerius in his cottage off campus. She was as shy and pretty as ever, with huge blue eyes and wavy blonde hair. I was really wary. But she didn't recognize me. And for that, I was pitifully grateful. When she began dating Marcus and spending more time around our dorm, I worried she might finally realize who I was. But some how she didn't.

I think it's stupid she isn't here, supporting Marcus. If I were with him, I'd be at every meeting. I'd hang on to Enjolras's every word. I'd be passionate about the cause – because he was.

I don't say these things. Instead, I eat my pie and sip my coffee, and listen to Marcus enthuse over his new club.

The whole group walks back to campus. "You coming, Evie?" Marcus asks. Enjolras, who has hung back with him, listens.

"Uh –"

"Come on, Eveline," Enjolras says, nearing. His eyes haven't lost their hard quality. "It's not a good time of night to be out on your own."

When Enjolras gives advice it's not so much a suggestion as it is an order. His voice is so commanding I don't argue. I simply put on my coat.

He lets the others walk ahead while he lingers back with me. The sidewalk can't take more than two or three's width of people. We're quiet. Then, he asks –

"What did you think?"

I speak softly. "It was…interesting…."

His lips quirk. "Just interesting? That's what people say when they don't know what else to remark upon…or when they'd just rather be polite."

"Ha. You're right," I admit. "Well, I don't know. I think it's a great cause. I've been struggling with school bills myself. Something needs to change." I think of others I know who are also having a hard time with money, some who are considering dropping out for a year or so to work. "But….."

"Ah." Enjolras's head drops. A small smile graces his thin lips. "I was waiting for that _'but.'"_

"Isn't it risky? I mean, knowing President Giffard, isn't it perfectly possible that some people could be expelled if this gets out of hand?"

"Yes," he says quietly. "It is certainly a risk. But everything meaningful comes with some risk. Eveline, it's got to be done. Surely you see this?"

"Of course I do. And if they're willing to risk everything, more power to them. Can you trust all of them?"

Leo nods briskly. "Yes. I trust all of them. That's why we're starting with a smaller group. The core members on each campus are trust-worthy. We've got a nice little chain of command."

"I can see."

We're quiet again.

"'Them,'" Enjolras says abruptly. "You're referring to us as…'them.' Do you not consider yourself part of our cause?"

I blink. "Well…not quite yet. I've only gone to one meeting."

He considers this. "Fair enough." A pause. "Sometime, though, Eveline, you'll need to decide whether or not you'll want to be part of us."

With that being said, we walk on in silence.

**-XXX-**

_The dream is curious, for in it I see myself. My own face, taut over bones that jut out painfully. I am thinner that I've ever been in my life, my skin is covered in grime, and my hair is lank. I cross my arms, faintly cold. It's no wonder – I'm wearing a scrap of a dress. With a light sigh, I look up to the smoggy night sky. No stars tonight. No stars any night, really. The streetlights and smoke drown them out. _

_ "It isn't a good time of night to be out on your own."_

_ I jump, spinning. From the yellowy light of the streetlamp, I can just make out the shadow-faced figure in the red jacket. He nears. _

_ Under these circumstances, the words ought to be menacing. But they don't _feel _the least bit threating. In fact, they feel…comforting. Someone cares enough to give me advice. I swallow, approaching the figure in the red jacket – not of my volition, however. My limbs move without permission. This is an odd sensation – being so aware of myself, seeing me from an outer perspective, yet, within my person at the same time –_

_ Finally, I'm close enough to properly see the man. With curly blonde hair and blue-grey eyes, a serious face and thin lips, he is so familiar. And yet – _

_ "What are you doing out so late, _mademoiselle_?" _

_ "Don't call me that, Enjolras," I scold lightly. My voice is hoarse. "I'm no _mademoiselle."

_"You are to me," he says, a little stern. But his eyes are soft. "My Patria."_

_ "I don't know what that means," I whisper. _

_ At that he laughs. "You still have not told me why you are out," he reminds. Tugging on his lapels, he leans in closer. "Have you been crying, Patria?"_

_ "No, I –" but even as I protest, I recognize the sting in my eyes. _"No wonder I'm so hoarse."

_ His expression darkens. "What is wrong?"_

_ "Nothing, Enjolras…nothing…."_

_ He is not persuaded. "Oh, _mon cher,_" he sighs. "It's you I fight for. You are the very reason our flag shall fly...soon."_

_ For some reason, that promise makes me quiver. Fear, anticipation, I cannot tell. All I know is, his words excite me. _

_ "When?"_

_ "Soon," is all he will say. "Now, do you need somewhere to go for the night?" _

**-XXX-**

When I wake the next morning the dream is still vivid in my mind. I blink back morning light as I strain to recall the conversation playing in my head – for, while other elements of the dream are very memorable, the words shared between myself and the man with the red coat are faint. If anything, a single word stands out: _Patria. _

Being the good college student that I am, I quickly turn to Google. It takes a few tries before I manage to come up with something relatively logical. I'm fairly certain French was being spoke – which is weird, because I barely know any. The first definitions are Spanish, then there is something about being a legal citizen in Britian. But I finally find it – _Patria, _Latin for native land, fatherland, homeland, or country.

_"He was calling me 'country?'" _I wonder to myself.

Weird. Shaking my head I turn to my alarm clock. The red digital numbers read out 7:47 harshly. Class doesn't start until 10. With a heavy sigh, I return to the warmth of my duvet, allowing myself to swiftly fall back into the loose embrace of sleep.

**-XXX-**

**So...whatcha think? **


	3. A World Beyond the Barricades

**A World Beyond the Barricades**

**Lovely response, guys. Thanks. **

**-XXX-**

The next Monday I'm early for class again. Enjolras meets me about ten minutes before it begins, taking his seat beside me. He's holding a grande cup of tea, and has dark circles beneath his eyes. His hair is mussed, with a wing falling over his left eye. His cheeks cut his features sharply.

"Have a nice weekend?" I ask.

He makes a sort of grunt. I smile.

"That good, eh?"

He nods. With nimble fingers he unwinds his scarf and unbuttons his coat, folding them over the back of the seat. I wait for him to settle before speaking again.

"So…French revolution? That's what you want to do?"

At this he perks up a little. "Yeah, that'd be great. But not, like…the big one. There's a few smaller revolts I'd like to look into."

"Okay. Any particular reason?"

Enjolras shrugs. "I don't know. I just remember reading about this one back in the 1830s where these guys built loads of barricades. Though they were out numbered ten-to-one, they still fought. Down to the last man."

"Wow. That's very noble."

He half-glances at me, sipping his tea. "You think so?"

"Yeah. Of course."

"So…we can do it?"

I shift to better face him. "Hey, I'm down if you are."

Class starts. We're silent until class is over, then we walk to the Union for coffee. Leo tells me a little more about the revolt – he doesn't remember a lot, but I am intrigued nonetheless. But, soon enough, the topic turns to the ABCs. He wants me to attend the next meeting. I edge around the topic.

"I don't know if that's the place for me, Enjolras."

He tilts his head, eyes flashing. "Why?"

I hesitate. "I…I'm not a very…loud person. You need strong voices for this, not someone as meek as me. I'm a coward."

"I disagree –"

"No," I assure him. "I completely am. I mean, look at the whole situation with Marcus. I've been in love with him for nearly two years, but I've not ever been able to say it, or even hint that I like him."

Enjolras shakes his head. "That's different. You're not being cowardly there – just foolish."

I open my mouth to protest, but find there is little I can say – he's right, really. "Well – fine," I finally manage. "But that doesn't mean I'm not good for it."

"No. You're perfect."

It's the first time someone of the male persuasion who is relatively attractive has ever said that to me. I'm forced to bite my lip. Leo continues.

"You're calm, logical, reasonable – most of the time, when it doesn't come to Marcus," he gives me an amused quirk of the lips. "And you're a listener. You can hear the people, Eveline. You'll take our pulse."

Blinking at him impassioned words, I am left speechless for a few seconds. When I recover, I ask, "But…what about the rest of you? You've got nearly twenty people, don't any of them…'take the pulse?'"

"Well, they could," he tells me, patting my hands, which lay folded on the table we currently share. It hits me then that discussing this topic in the Union might not be the best of ideas.

I mention this to Enjolras, and he assures me no one is paying attention. "We are, for all the world, two people talking about something completely standard and cliché and young adult. Nothing more. Besides, no one plans state-wide-protests over coffee."

I don't know if that's really a valid point, but I let it drop. He continues.

"Other people could take the pulse," he concedes. "But you're the best person. Something about you is…how do I put this in polite terms…."

"There's an impolite term?"

He ignores me. "You mix with people well. Marcus says you're sort of an all-classes person. You can get on-level with anybody, from any major, from any social or economic class. You're that kind of person."

I almost wince. Unfortunately, he's right. My life, in its rise and fall, has allowed me to live in the lower cusp of upper-class, and in the bottom of a barrel of poor. My parents had brought a wide range of people into our lives when we were kid. He's right. I do know how to mix. And I'm pretty good at gaging the emotions of a group, even a diverse one.

"We need you," he says bluntly. "We need you, and we'll be damned if we don't have someone like you listening to them. We need someone who can _know _where they –" At this, Enjolras jabs a finger into the air. "—will stand. Whether they'll rise with us. Or if it'll just be some twenty-odd people out there holding signs and yelling themselves hoarse."

I start. "Would you do that? If there were only twenty, would you still rally?"

"Of course."

It's something of a death wish. With fewer people, that simply left fewer to be identified and caught should the administration decide they no longer wanted to provide a platform for free speech. If there are more, it will be harder to single anyone out. To launch the protest, or even the budding motions of posters and emails, could very well be academically suicidal. I can't help but admire him for it.

"Will you stand in our crusade, Eveline Theard?" he asks seriously. "You needn't come to the protests – I feel like that's asking too much of you. But will come to the meetings? Listen? Give us a pulse?"

His hands are still on mine. I've only just noticed. They're warm and dry. Ever-so-briefly, they squeeze my hands.

"I…yes." I take a breath. "Yes, I'll do it."

His smile is positively glowing. For a second, all weariness slips away. I can't help but smile back around my cardboard cup of coffee, a little embarrassed.

**-XXX-**

Next week we're approved to start working on our Revolutions project. The 1832 June Rebellion, also known as the Paris Uprising. Enjolras is excited. I'm far more sedated, more glad to have selection out of the way than anything. He presents a timeline for us – every Sunday night we're to meet in the library. We'll begin by understanding the core of the rebellion, then study the time frame, key players, aftermath….all the way to the Union Leo talks, so much I'm overwhelmed. I simply follow along as best I can with a series of "yeah," "right," "okay," "works for me," "totally," and "can't wait to start."

He completely gets me though, and quirks his lips when I "mmh-yeah" him when posed the question of my favourite Beatle.

"You're not paying attention to me," he declares, mockingly affronted.

I concede that he is right. "Only because I trust everything you're saying is entirely accurate," I tell him, face straight.

"Fair enough."

**-XXX-**

Almost two weeks following this I'm caught in a rather awkward position with a member of the administration. Thankfully, it's in no relation to the ABCs. Unfortunately, it's with President Giffard – who is a sour old man with little respect for his student population. As it's been suggested by our bi-monthly _Index, _he's so by the book his justice is quite merciless. To President Giffard, the world is still black and white with absolutely no shades of grey in between.

The encounter occurs in the middle of the ground-floor hallway of the humanities building. It's roughly five o'clock in the afternoon, which might not seem so late, however, for classes it's rather so. I'm hanging about, having just finished my final class of the day, sitting in a secluded alcove framing a pair of professor offices (both of which are unoccupied), fiddling on my laptop, when I see Valerius rounding the nearest corner. I swiftly remove my earbuds. Smiling, I almost speak up. But I am quick to quiet myself when I spot Giffard in close pursuit.

He's hissing lowly – nothing terribly new for him, he is quite the hisser – and I can scarcely make him out his words. Straining to hear, I simultaneously tuck myself further into the shadows of the alcove. Somehow, I doubt they'd appreciate my accidental eavesdropping. This point is especially clear to me when Valerius's face is in full view; his normally kindly composure is fiercely agitated.

"…Should've made the full effort months ago…years ago…." I hear Giffard spit. "I've no clue, Jon Valerius, how you've managed to find and keep gainful employment….with your record….."

"No thanks to you," Valerius replies. He's gracefully calm.

His cooler nature makes Giffard's tone sound far harsher than I'd originally perceived. The next words our president spits sound like positive fire against Valerius's passive water.

"You would've been better to let yourself go, Jon. It does yourself and your daughter no good…not with what I'll do to you….the board….."

What is said next I cannot hear. But if Valerius's face is any indication, it's nothing particularly nice.

I shrink further into the alcove. _"Dear God, if I am caught…." _With this thought, I put the earbuds back in; if I am to be found, at least I can then pretend at having not listened.

Perhaps three or four more minutes pass before the pair goes by. It's only when their footfalls leave the edge of my hearing that I can properly breathe again. Heck, it's only just then that I realize I've been without air at all. I release the tension coiled in all my limbs. They're sore from just the few minutes of held stiffness.

_"Whatever was that?" _I wonder as I ease my way onto my knees. Feet follow, then I'm standing with both hands against the wall for support. Once I've gathered my bearings, I am swift to grab my things and make my way out of the building; scurrying through the maze of corridors, the two flights of stairs, across the polished stone of the first floor hall. _"What, dear Lord, just happened? Does Giffard have it out for Valerius?"_

Jon Valerius is popular among the students and most of the staff. It's no secret that Giffard isn't a particular fan. But what I've just seen doesn't just show he's not a fan – it speaks of loathing.

Confused, I cross campus for my dorm, musing all the way. My primary thought is, sadly, _"Might the ABCs use this?"_

**-XXX-**

Enjolras finds my report curious, but not particularly helpful. He's only mildly interested when I present him with this snippet of a scene.

"Funny," he says, fingering the edge of his coffee cup. One bony index finger traces the plastic lip lightly. "I know Giffard rather dislikes Dr. Valerius, but this is another level. That almost sounded like a threat."

"I know," I say, impatient. "It's weird. Giffard is so by the book…."

"Whose to say Valerius was acting by the book himself?" Leo asks, brows raised. "If what you're suggesting is that Giffard is doing something uncouth, perhaps he's simply reacting to something un-bookish Valerius has done?"

It's a fair point. But I don't like thinking of Jon Valerius committing any wrongs. I tell Enjolras as much. He shrugs in response.

"It isn't nice to think about, no," he agrees. "But if he is doing something – swindling money, screwing students, plagiarizing academic work – then Giffard is right in talking to him about it."

"I don't know..." The tone hadn't been warning-like. It had been a threat. A malicious, unkind threat.

Sometimes it's easy to forget – while Leo doesn't always do things that are within rules and regulations, he has a pretty high moral code. Perhaps it isn't so black-and-white as Giffards, but the colours are pretty solid nonetheless. That's why, I suppose, he's heading the ABCs. It's why he's so big into Philosophy and Political Science. Enjolras knows wrong from right and he wants the rest of the world to see it too.

While I'm considering this I'm also rather openly staring at him. In return my friend is looking back, unabashed, lips curling with amusement.

"Hello there."

I blink. "Oh…."

"Something on your mind?" Enjolras winks, hinting at mockery. "I know you can't be checking me out, Miss Theard, as your heart currently belongs to another."

I colour. He chuckles. There's a slight edge to the laughter – probably a result of his continuing disapproval of my infatuation with his friend. That's a hazard of being friends with Enjolras, you see. He doesn't hesitate in letting you know when something displeases him. I choose not to comment.

**-XXX-**

Sunday night, and we're once again in the library, researching French political figures of the 1820 and 30s. We meet on the second floor, settling up shop on one of those tables with build-in lamps, speaking in low voices. A notebook between us, together we outline our goals for the evening, mentioning personal progress made, questioning information and resources gathered since we last met. All in all, we have certainly got our heads in the game. Unlike some people…..

Marcus appears about twenty minutes after Enjolras and I have settled into our towers of books. He's merry, as ever, stopping to greet us with his usual warmth. I'm surprised to see him here – he doesn't typically grace the library scene. Briefly, he sits with us, though his limbs jitter.

"Are you doing homework?" inquires Enjolras, his drawl teasing. "On a Sunday? Studying?"

"I do partake of academic work occasionally, Leo," Marcus protests. "Give me some credit."

"But that's not why you're here tonight," his friend prompts.

Marcus looks sheepish. "Well – no. I'm meeting –"

"Coleen?" Enjolra smirks. "What a surprise."

"She needed some help with research!"

At Marcus's defensive pleas, Enjolras shakes his head, slowly looking to me. "Do you believe him, Eveline?"

I silently raise a brow. Leo grins.

"Of course. Me either."

I'm pained, but say nothing. My friend doesn't look away.

"Well. Go on, Marcus." He wiggles a few fingers carelessly. "Eveline and I are working on a project – we're actually studying, you see, it takes silence and focus. And, hands to yourself," he adds pointedly.

A few mumbled curses later, Marcus passes us by and we turn back to our books.

It has always been my understanding that libraries are sacred spaces. And, from what I learned in Introduction to World Religions my sophomore year, sacred things are set apart from the profane. Sacred things are holy. To be respected.

Which is why when Enjolras and I stumble upon Coleen and Marcus macking one another in a secluded corner of the reference section, I'm both affronted and disgusted. Leopold Enjolras clearly shares my feelings.

"Completely immature," he says on our retreat back to the well-lit central area. "I guess we'll just have to look up that De Poncy article next time….disgusting…in a public place, no less."

"I guess with her still living at home finding the time can be…hard."

"Yeah." He snorts. "Hard. One of the many difficulties in Marc's battlefield of a life."

If I were a better friend I'd take offense to that. If Enjolras was a better friend, he wouldn'tve said it. Then again….

As we walk passed the rows and rows of metal shelves at a breakneck pace, the image of his hands on her hips, slowly traveling up her stomach to her waist, the barest slip of golden flesh peeking out from the gape between her jeans and camisole, cannot leave my mind. For a second I substituted her skin with mine, and his hands with -

" – okay, Eveline?"

I blink, jolted back to the present. A hand catches my upper arm just before I respond hastily with a "Yeah, totally!"

"Uh-huh." Enjolras leans back, observing me with a close-lipped smile. "What did you just agree to?"

We're back at our table. I begin gathering my thinks, shoving books into my bag, grabbing pens and putting on my outdoor things. As I'm winding my scarf around my neck, I try to think back to what Enjolras was saying as we fled the corner-o-facesucking.

"Um…meeting this Wednesday for another study session?"

"Ah…you're lucky this time. You do know I can tell when you're not paying attention, right?"

"It's that obvious?" I ask faintly, staring at my hands, struggling with my gloves. Funny, how something normally so simple can turn into quite the task when you're…flustered.

"Yeah." A sympathetic tone tinges his voice now. "You deserve better than someone who will try to jump your bones in a library. You know that, right, Eveline?"

Again I blink. "What?"

He sighs. "I like Marcus. I like Coleen. I like _you. _And while I think they're being completely inappropriate to behave in such a lewd manner in a library, I think Coleen and Marcus deserve one another. But I don't think you deserve Marcus."

"Oh." I stare. "Oh...kay. Thanks, Enjolras?"

"No," he says, growing frustrated. "You don't understand. Eveline. You deserve better than Marcus."

"You keep saying that," I answer quietly. "But I can't just turn my feelings off. I don't work like that. You might. But I can't."

With that, I sling my backpack on, then make my way out of the library, face aflame.

**-XXX-**

**Ew. Gross. Kissing. **

**I've had to be very tricky with the Giffard/Valerius conflict. This story isn't solely E/E, you see, and Valjean and Javert aren't going to go away...they'll both figure in. Somehow. **

**So, I've gotten loads of favorites and follows on this story - which I greatly appreciate. However, reviews would be equally fantastic now. I'd really like to know what you think, and they're very encouraging. Also, they really brighten my day. So give a poor college kid a break and scribble a few words down? Questions, critiques, comments, I take 'em all. **


	4. The Blood of Angry Men

**IV The Blood of Angry Men**

**Wow, that was a lovely reaction! I'm so glad you guys are enjoying this. I put a lot of time into research and what not. I hope you enjoy this chapter! **

**Nina asked me who the members of the modern ABC translated to. The list is below.**

**Brad - Bahorel**

**Joe Leigh - Joly**

**Jami -Feuilly**

**Courtney Philips - Courfeyrac**

**Charles - Combeferre**

**Philip - Prouvaire**

**Grant - Grantaire**

**Caleb - Gavroche **

**-XXX-**

_I wake slowly, my senses allowing me to absorb my surroundings – though I am not immediately aware of them. There is a low murmur of activity surrounding me. I can practically feel the shift of bodies throughout the room, which is reasonably drafty. Though, I feel it's far warmer than what I am used to. The scent of smoke and wine saturates most everything, though I catch a far richer smell from the fabric I am currently nuzzling; __bergamot. A scent I didn't even know I was familiar with, actually. _

_Something touches my shoulder, something wonderfully warm. It rubs against my exposed skin for a moment, gently pushing me closer. I sniff, making light sounds of protest. _

_ Blinking blearily, I nose the fabric. Red. Dim lighting. Candles, I guess. Oil lamps. The thing touching my shoulder extends across my back. It shifts. A face appears. Curls – not my own – brush my forehead. Blue-grey eyes peer into mine. I wait as my focus adjusts. Then I properly see who it is I've been sleeping on. Him._

_ "Patria," he greets in a slip of a whisper. _

_ I scramble, shuddering with cold to sit up, but he hushes me, hand on my shoulder. _

"Non, non," _he scolds mildly. "Sit. You're doing no harm. Please, sit."_

_ Obeying, I blush. I look down at my lap, fiddling with my fingers – which are dreadfully dirty. When I glance up, I take note of where we are. A quick scope of the room tells me we are in a café (though not the kind I'm familiar with biscotti and mochas) and there are roughly a dozen people milling about – patrons of the café, and others that I am…familiar with? Faces I am positive I know. But the associations and names are blurry. They're familiar. I feel goodness toward them. _

_ Just as I feel towards this fellow. In fact, just looking at him now I am growing a little breathless. He's looking down at me, something like a smile growing on his thin lips. _

_ "Did you have a nice rest, Patria?" _

_ I nod. Somehow, I don't quite feel like this is truly what I commonly go by. It's rather some kind of a pet name, I think. Shyly, I say, "Thank you."_

_ He inclines his head, eyes twinkling. His hand is still on my shoulder; it is against bare skin. Frowning, he states, "You're positively freezing." Pulling back, he makes to remove his coat. With wide eyes I bid him not to. But no amount of frantically whispered "Oh, non, please _monsieur_" will convince him to give up such a gentlemanly action. The red coat goes around me, and I blush so deeply as to almost match it. He tells me as much, which only causes me to colour further. I believe this amuses him. _

_ "You are weary," he says. "Rest. I'm going to be here for a while still." He gestures to a messy pile of books, maps, and assorted papers littering the table before us. Running a hand through his mess of curls, he smiles ruefully. "A long while. Please. Sleep more."_

_ Again I tuck myself against him. Thank goodness we're in a rather secluded corner of the café. Eyes pass us, but no one pries. A few folks smile, some in a more-than-friendly way. I don't think much about it. Weariness I didn't know I had in me comes to a rise. As he shuffles papers and books, my eyes drift closer and closer to closing. I lazily fight the urge, until he whispers, "Sleep, Patria." It takes little more than want to comply. _

**-XXX-**

Later, I have to apologize to Enjolras for my shortness with him. "You're just trying to be a good friend," I say with a sigh. "And warn me with a little perspective. And you are, by the way. Totally a good friend. A _great _friend. And I've been pretty shitty at being grateful for that –"

"Hey. It's okay. You've been fine."

"No, but I haven't even told you. You're seriously a great friend, Leo. And you deserve to hear that. And I shouldn't be so cross –"

"_Eveline," _he cuts in. "You. Are. Fine."

"No, but I –"

One finger touches my lips, effectively sealing them. "Seriously. If you say another word, I'm just going to have to…."

But he's at a loss for what to do. I pull back, laughing.

"To do what, kiss me?" I tease.

"It's either that or punch you," he says gravely. "And you're too much of a lady and I'm too much of a gentleman to punch you.

**-XXX-**

"I've got an announcement," Marcus says at the start of the meeting. It's now early March, just two weeks away from our first strike. He stands at the head of the table, looking nervous. From my place beside Enjolras, I lean in.

"Do you have any idea what this is about?"

"Not a clue," he replies shortly, his eyes never leaving the spot were Marcus stands.

"Coleen told me today," Marcus begins slowly. "That she can't do our graphics anymore. She's sorry but…but it's just not a good idea."

The group is floored. While it might seem like just a minor detail, the graphics and posters are a big part of our attack. For her to back out, on such short notice…well, we're screwed. No one in the ABCs is remotely artistic. And to find a student to help us could be risky. We needed someone in or associated with the group. Coleen was that person.

"Tonight was supposed to be the night she turned in designs," Jami murmurs from across the table.

My face heats. _"How could she do this to us?" _My fists clench against my knees. Enjolras look down at them, frowning.

"She's really, really sorry –"

"I'm sure she is," someone spits out. It takes a minute before I realize that someone is me. And it doesn't take more than a few seconds after that before I do it again. "What the hell, Marcus? First she's too much of a pussy to come to meetings, now backing out last minute? You know we needed those posters. The least she could do was give us some notice. Now what are we supposed to do?"

"Eveline," Enjolras says sharply. His hands are on mine, but I'm already standing.

Marcus's face goes through a myriad of emotions – shock, dismay, offense, then anger.

"Hey, this is a big risk for her," he protests. "Her dad works for the university, Evie, she could get herself and him and his job in a lot of trouble."

"Oh, yeah. Her dad." I'm scoffing. "Typical Coleen, putting all on her daddy. We're all risking something here….She's let us down, Marcus, don't defend her. Now we're basically screwed. The designs were due, and if we don't get them into the print shop soon, we're going to be late. Or worse."

"She's totally right," someone to my left cries.

"Guys, let's just cool it, okay," an anxious Joe Leigh starts. I almost lunge forward, glaring.

"I can't believe you let her do this, Marcus."

"Eveline," Enjolras says again, this time his hand on my shoulder, squeezing. He has got blackness in his tone. "Stop."

"She won't reconsider?" Brad asks, trying to diffuse the situation. "I mean, she did promise us –"

"No," I snap. "We don't need someone so unreliable. We'll get somebody better."

Marcus has gone completely read. "What the hell is wrong with you, Evie? That's my girlfriend. You're seriously crossing the line –"

"Yeah, and you're drawing one," I sneer. "Clearly some of us aren't so –"

"_Enough_!" Enjolras roars. The entire room falls to silence. We've all frozen, wide-eyed and breathless. The gripe upon my shoulder is bruising, though I've only now noticed it. Enjolras surveys the group, his gaze positively deadly. He's angled himself to half shield me, though at this point I'm pretty sure it's a tactic used to protect Marcus rather than myself. Though, Marcus looks rather murderous.

"Enough. All of you. It is disappointing to hear that she's not going to fulfill our orders, Marcus," he says quietly, then adding with a sterner tone. "A little notice in advance would have been preferred. If she still wishes to help with the cause…by all means. But next time, tell her to not make promises she doesn't intend on keeping. She knew of the risks well in advance."

To the rest of the room, he orders, "Talk to your friends. Find someone reliable who is good with graphics. We'll need a design by Thursday. We'll pay them, if they want, and their name will be kept out of it. Go."

They all automatically turned to their phones, tablets, and laptops. We'd have someone within the hour for sure.

Finally, he turns to me. Eyes cold, Enjolras directs me outside. I wait for a few minutes, huddled under the awning, watching the red neon glow reflected in the puddles scattered throughout the gravel parking lot. The ripples combined with the patterns the light creates is something oddly beautiful. When Leo finally comes out, he is quiet. We both stare out at the drizzle, admiring the darkness.

"That was out of line," he finally says. "And not your place."

"Well…you weren't acting in yours."

"I would have," he assures me curtly. "Had I been given time. Instead, I have some heartbroken _girl _who normally doesn't speak _at all _throwing herself in the middle to discipline one of my top guys." One hand rises to rub the back of his neck. Leo looks down, shaking his head. "I mean…what the hell, Eveline? I know you have this thing against Coleen –" I open my mouth to protest, but he holds up a finger. "—and I know you have a thing for Marcus but…that was…that was…."

"Uncalled for?" I ask meekly.

He snorts. "Among other things. I was thinking just plain weird." He sighs. "Eveline. You have some problems there. You need to apologize to Marcus, at the very least, if not spend some time figuring out why you can't get over him."

"Who says I can't get over him?"

"How about that freak-out session the entire group was privy to back there, eh?" he asks wryly. "C'mon. He's got her – flakey, flighty Coleen. What do you want him for? He's obviously got no taste."

I glance up. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah." There is a pause. Enjolras swallows. "Else he would've picked you, Eveline. But he didn't. He didn't even see you. Now, what do you want with a guy like that?"

"Isn't he supposed to be your friend, Leo?"

At that, the leader of the ABCs winces. "Yeah. Yeah, he's supposed to be. And you're supposed to be my level-headed pulse reader. You're not doing so well on the level-headed part."

"No, I suppose I'm not," I murmur, sighing. Wrapping my arms around myself, I turn from him to walk the length of the covered pavement.

"Where are you going?"

I think about the question for a minute before answering. I had considered running away, going back to the dorms, when he sent me out here. "No where."

"Good." He comes up behind me, hand on my shoulder. This time, the touch is gentle. "Come back inside. Sit by me, don't even look at Marcus. Once the meeting is over I'll take you home, and tomorrow you can apologize."

"I don't know if that is such a good idea. I should just go."

Enjolras is firm. "No. Come inside. It's too rainy to walk, anyways, and I know you didn't bring an umbrella. I'll give you a ride in my car afterwards…c'mon."

"No," I insist softly. "I shouldn't stay here. I'll go. Or at least let me stay here."

He looks at me. Straight-in-the-eye _looks _at me. "Eveline. It's raining. It's cold. Come inside."

I shake my head. "Please. I'm really more comfortable out here."

"Eveline…."

I hold firm. With a sigh, Enjolras resigns himself. "Fine. Just…stay here. Don't even think about leaving. I am driving you home," he says firmly. "It'll just be ten more minutes. Fifteen, tops."

Considering we'd not even officially started the meeting when Marcus made his announcement, I'm not sure how that would even work out – normally our sessions last at least an hour. If it only takes him fifteen minutes to close up, we'd have been gathered and working on ABC business for approximately twenty minutes. I don't question him, though.

"Promise you'll stay?" he asks seriously. In the darkness, his eyes look so bright. Our ferocious leader.

I smile. "Pinky swear."

And just to prove my point, I extend a single pinky. To my surprise, he accepts it.

"Thank you," he breathes. The relief in his voice surprises me again.

Reassured that I'm sticking around, Enjolras ducks inside.

As soon as he's out of sight, I turn away. With a breath, I step out from under the awning and point myself towards campus.

**-XXX-**

**Guys, I did some legit research on men's cologne of the 1800s. Apparently it was truly developed for gentlemen in the 1700s (which surprised me, as I would've figured sooner). Napoleon was said to have used 10 gallons of violet scent a month. Which is a little excessive, in my mind, but hey, somethings never change right?**

**Unfortunately, the most I could get out of ingredients were ****bergamot and some other things I didn't recognize. So I guess it's within the period….?**

**And if anyone wants to challenge me on Enjolras wearing cologne, go for it. Remember – he's a gentleman, and he's French. **

**So...wow. Eveline flip shit. Thoughts? **

**Reviews would be grand! **


	5. The Fall of Rain

**V The Fall of Rain**

**I haven't had any questions about it yet, but I'd just like to clarify something – the reason 90 percent of characters have modern American or generally Americanized names and Enjolras doesn't is something that has bothered me. But, in all honesty, I searched high and low for an alternate name. While I have given him "Leopold," and it has suited the purpose, he goes by Enjolras in the show – no first name. **

**Unfortunately, there is no true counterpart to **

**-XXX-**

I choose a longer route back to the dorms, despite the rain. I need time to think. Time to adjust. Time to digest.

The rain is quick to soak me, as though the drops wish to find solace in my dry heat. I watch as the light blue of my coat turns speckled with black, then, finally, is overwhelmed by dark wetness. It takes a while for the chill to sink in – my mind being too preoccupied with the efforts of _not thinking_, that all other sensations are temporarily blocked. But then I do begin to think. And when I do, everything _bad, horrid, _and utterly _miserable _floods me all at once. It's almost like drowning in your own thoughts.

Marcus shall never, ever love me. He'll never be able to look past me, see beyond friendship (and now, perhaps, loathing). This finality is hard to bear. I've…wanted. For so long. For _ages. _But then he found Coleen. She became his everything, just like that. In an instant. I remember, I was there. He saw her in the convenience store, while we were stocking up on snacks. We were going to have a movie marathon of something-or-other. Coleen was picking through the scant selection of fruit. Marcus stood there staring at her for almost an entire minute before I poked him. He asked who she was, I told him, he got her number and…well. The rest is history.

It always made me so angry. I've been here for _ages_. I've helped him through mountains of homework, taken breakfast, lunch, and dinner with him in the dining hall, passed along lecture notes when he was sick…I'd been a part of his life. Here. Coleen was just standing in a store, and he fell for her.

But what about me? What hadn't I done? Why couldn't he notice –

"_Perhaps love isn't to be earned through devotion and helpfulness," _I think bitterly, frozen hands curling into fists. _"Perhaps it isn't earned at all."_

My hands ache just in that action. The cold has really started to affect me, along with the rain. Now that I'm a little more focused on it, I can feel the trickle of water down my scalp, neck, and back. It's an eerie feeling. With a shiver, I shake my head. At least I'll be in the dorms soon enough. There I'll make some coco and take a long, hot, merciful shower. Scrub all of this rain off. Though it's supposed to be all clean and pure, I feel no better than if I'd been dipped in mud.

Perhaps it's the combination of tears and rain. Tears are horrid. They always make your face feel so crusted after crying. At the moment they're mingling with the rain (which is a terrible cliché, something straight out of a pop music video).

"_Just keep your eyes forward."_

Past the streak of rainfall, all I see is the asphalt and darkness. The pavement is glassy on some parts, then rough and dark on others – a result of being unlevel. The glassy sections reflect the white of the streetlights, given the road a distinctly metallic appearance. _"Silver pavement," _I think, biting back a smile. The silver, though, is struck with more rain. Ripples mar the surface every few seconds. But it's still pretty. To me, anyways. Abstract in nature.

For a while, my mind is quiet. Nothing but the sound of drops pelting the ground fills me. A peaceful sound. Natural. Just…water. Hitting things.

Funny, how a thousand drops gather to make such a noise. It's not-quite-faint, not really powerful, but persistent.

This reminds me of the ABCs, for whatever reason. And the ABCs remind me of Enjolras. Our fearless leader.

I've learned, since joining, that some less-charitable members call him "Marble Man," or "stone cold" behind his back. This is not the Enjolras I know, but in afterthought I recognized the Enjolras I see in meetings to have these traits. In our bi-weekly gatherings he is driven, ruthless, without emotion, solid…unyielding. Just like marble. Completely immersed in his role; bound in being a leader. He is terrifying sometimes, yes, but he is always Enjolras. Beyond all of that strictness I can see the guy I regularly get coffee with – I can see Leo.

He's hard, yes, but no bully. _"People don't give him enough credit." _He is always, always fair. As consistent as the rain.

Oh, why couldn't have been Enjolras and not Marcus whose dorm was next to mine freshman year? Why couldn't I have become friends with him, fallen for him? Pining for Leo would be no better, truly, but at least he doesn't give a flit for a sillier girl – or any girls at all! I'd have been much better off to crush on him than Marcus, surely. The heartbreak would have perhaps taken longer to initially occur, but it would have been swift, not the brutal torment these last months have been. A cleaner break.

Just my luck.

My eyes stay on the ground during all of this musing. So I immediately notice when I begin to cast a long shadow upon the asphalt. A car's headlights have found me. I quickly move right, further from the street, half-turning. It's a very familiar car, actually. Black, sleek, but not particularly new…I narrow my eyes, trying to see through the downpour. I think of the people I know with a black car. One quickly comes to mind. One person I know to be out tonight.

"_Enjolras?"_

The car slows, pulling up beside me. The passenger window slides down to reveal a very disgruntled Leopold Enjolras. His lips form a thin, slashing line, and the one hand I can see on the wheel is white, with knuckles straining against skin. I unconsciously back away from the vehicle.

"Eveline," he barks. "Get in."

"No, thank you. I'd prefer to walk." And I start doing just that again. He creeps along beside me, scowling furious.

"Don't be stupid! You'll catch your death. It's freezing and you're soaked. Come here." If advice from Enjolras was an order, orders were practically commandments. But again I refuse. He purses his lips, clearly exasperated. I have no doubt that if I were within arm's reach he'd be wringing my neck. Or yelling. Or both. For the moment, however, he's got to be a least a little calm. "Please, Eveline."

"I'll get your upholstery wet," I remind him, moving along. Hair is plastered to my skin, on my cheeks and neck. I must be a sight….

"Screw the upholstery!" he calls, gritting his teeth. There is a pause. Then, in a more pleading tone, _"Please."_

I stop, biting my lip. It is terribly tempting. Right now I'm really cold and really wet and really, really just want to get home and crawl into bed. Enjolras waits. Hope dawns on his strained features. I am quick to dash it.

"I…need to think."

With this, he lets out a muffled scream of aggravation. The car in thrown into park, lurching with the gear switch. Enjolras all but flies from the driver's seat, slamming the door shut before launching himself at me. In under a minute I am seized by the wrists, forcibly dragged to the car, and made to sit. "Stay," he orders, tone deadly. This time I comply.

Once he's back in the passenger seat and the car back on the road, he speaks. In a very soft voice, Leo begins. "I asked you to stay. You promised."

"I know."

"I said I take you home."

"I know."

He sighs. "It would've just been a few minutes more, Eveline. You be there by now, had you waited. Instead, you've gone and gotten yourself all wet and cold, and I nearly had a panic attack searching for you. Why couldn't you have waited?"

My hands are beginning to warm again. He's got the heat on full-blast, thankfully. Slowly, warmth begins to creep up my skin again. The sensation tingles. "I just needed some time," I whisper. "To think."

From the corner of my eye, I see Enjolras's grip upon the steering wheel tighten.

"Why?" I croak. There's a fresh harshness in my tone, a broken note. At this he looks up, startled. I know how pathetic I look – soaked to the bone, crying, hair a sopping mess, makeup probably all runny. The foolish girl who goes off into the storm alone to sob about lost love. "Why the hell do you care so much? About me? About the scholarships? About any of it?"

"I…" He frowns. Not exactly out of displeasure. "I don't know. I just do."

This only makes me cry harder. "I don't deserve it, Leo. I'm horridly selfish and cruel. I said all of those terrible things about Coleen to Marcus. I joined the ABCs just to be friends with him, which is completely unfair to you. I'm so horrid…."

"Oh, stop!" he orders again, looking strained and mollified. "I knew that. Hell, I practically took advantage of your fixation on him, trying to get you to come to those meeting. Who do you think asked him to text you? You're no worse than I."

"No," I sob. "You're all _noble. _You care about people, look at this campaign. Look at what you've done tonight, what you've been working on all year."

"Eveline," he says helplessly.

"You're wonderful, Leo. I joined the cause to impress someone who'll never like me, but you've done it straight for the justice of it all."

"But I haven't!" he cries. "I'm not just and I'm not noble, I'm just…just…." Enjolras swallows. His eyes stay on the road, but they tighten. All of the sudden, he seems very, very tired. Rapidly drained. "Eveline, I didn't just start this because I cared about the scholarships or the funding."

"Then why?" I ask quietly.

He takes a breath. "I don't know. The issue is important to me, you have to understand. And I mean everything I say. None of those speeches were false. The cause _burns _me. However…I didn't start that way. Sometimes, I think I did it just because…it was the thing to do." He winces. "That sounds so stupid. Yet, that's the only way I know how to put it. Have you ever had a pressing feeling that you were supposed to do something great? Change lives? Make an impact? A kind of spiritual pressure moving you towards an explosion of action?" He waits before continuing. "That's what it was. I had to put myself into a cause – any cause – so I didn't burn slowly with boredom. I saw the problem of scholarships and school funding being slashed. And it sort of struck me. I took it on.

"I'm not an especially noble person," he says quietly. "I just…need to do this."

Silences stretches out for minutes. By now we've reached the dorm. We've parked just before it, parallel Franklin's front doors. Tentatively, I reach across for his hand.

"That's still worth something," I whisper. "You're still an awesome person."

Enjolras smiles faintly. "But no better or worse than you."

I squeeze his hand. It's just as cold as mine. "You, Leopold Enjolras, are terrible wonderful. And no matter your initial motivations, you're doing a good thing and you're a good person. Trust me."

He flips his hand, so that our palms our touching, fingers laced. For what feels like an age, we sit like that, in the car. Holding hands, completely quiet, listening to the drizzle surrounding us. At peace. It's not the least bit awkward, either. Though we don't look at one another, the atmosphere is untainted. Leo's hand feels warm and dry against mine. It isn't tensed, crushing, or fish-like and flat; it simply is. Perfectly active and willing participant in the hand-holding.

"I wish you hadn't run out tonight."

I give him a lopsided smile. "I wish you'd believe me when I tell you how brilliant you are."

"That might take a while still."

"Then I'll keep telling you." I hesitate, then lean over for an awkwardly executed hug. We hold one another for a long time – longer than strictly necessary. Pulling away, I push back a few damp locks from my face, embarrassed. "Oh, look, I've gotten you wet!"

"No matter," he chuckles. Then, seriously, he says, "Thank you, Eveline."

I blink. "Hey. Thank _you_."

Walking through the drizzle to my dorm, stumbling inside and down the hall to the elevator, the image of Enjolras's face flickers through my mind – angry, relieved, weary, amuse. I'm so preoccupied I don't even register the befuddled stares my presences garners on the elevator, no do I truly note the _"Get caught in the rain, Evie?" _or _"Fancied a shower, Theard?" _that my housemates throw after me as I pass their open doors. I fumble with the brass key, then practically fall inside to sluff off my wet clothes, wincing at the sensation of tight fabric pulled from tender skin. Next comes a shower; long and hot, perfect. I stay in there a long time. Homework is ignored for the night in favor of crawling beneath my duvet.

**-XXX-**

_"Another!" crows __Grantaire. As he lifts his empty cup his elbows knock my shoulders, jostling me. It's quite easy to move me – I'm quite thin, a whisper of a person. _

_ "Calm down, _mon ami," _Joly says, clasping my arm so as to steady me. "And focus. We've much to go over. Gavroche has brought us news. Be careful around the mademoiselle, if you please."_

_ Had my attentions not already been occupied, I would thank the kind monsieur. However, I am too busy observing the man across the table from me. His crystalline eyes have narrowed on Joly's hand upon my forearm. When his gaze rises to meet mine, it softens. But it does not linger. He tugs at the lapels of his marvelous scarlet coat, standing. The general babble of the upper room of the café lowers, then halts altogether. When he stands, all fall silent. Always. _

_ "My dear friends," he begins in a measured tone. "We're coming closer and closer to our fight. Our liberation is at hand – we must only be patience in waiting to grasp it. Our plans are in place, unions formed, we need only to move forth into action. As we are nearing the battle, we need to start telling the people of our revolution. Exert caution upon doing this, _mon amis, _inform only those who you trust. A few whispers in the market place, perhaps casual mentions in classes. Let them know it is coming. Let them know we are rising. And let them know they must rise with us. This is not merely our fight – it is the people's! We shall bid them to join us at the barricades. So tell them – with caution."_

_ There is a murmur of agreement. Beside the man in scarlet sits the quiet Combeferre. One of his hands rests on the table, fingers drumming lightly against the scrubbed wooden surface. "They need to know to be subtle," he advises. "Tell them to wait for our sign." _

_ "Red and black," Feully cries. "The colours of the world, changing!" _

_ Combeferre smiles. "It is a good symbol yes, but we need a far more dramatic sign."_

_ The man in scarlet muses. Talking resumes again until Courfeyrac says abruptly, "Enjolras, Gavroche has news." _

_ The boy – Gavroche - is made to stand upon a bench. He begins, in a rush, to tell us of the recent activity within the police, the suspicion they've recently developed. "There err whispers of rebellion 'n a streets," the boy says, his gutter dialect heavy. "But 'ery one askin' 'oo, 'oo'll be fightin' for us? We can't fight. We ain't trained or ready." _

_ At this, the man in scarlet looks quite grim. His mouth purse, forming a tight line. "Well, that is something, at least. Thank you, Gavroche. Keep your ears open." He looks to Combeferre. "Get the boy something to eat, please." _

_ The tall man leads the boy to the bar. Minutes later, the scruffy lad slide in next to Grantaire. They make quite the pair. _

_ It is curious to me that I should now know all of these names. Faces which were once merely familiar are now vividly close in my mind, with names and memories attached to each. All, that is, except the man in scarlet. Enjolras. Isn't that what they had called him?_

_ The meeting comes to a close, and with it, the man in the scarlet coat comes to me. Lead to our secluded corner again I am pleased. We sit together in companionable silence, surrounded by books and maps. I run my fingers – which are dirty and bone-thin – along the closed pages of Plato's _Republic _while my friend pours over his maps, using a pen to mark select streets. We've served wine and some kind of bread at some point. I sip the bitter purple-black liquid and nibble on some crust while he studies. It's long past midnight before he even takes a swig of wine. I am not offended though, but rather contented with reading on of the many tomes upon the table. _

_ When he finally takes a moment to sit back, the man in scarlet smiles at me wearily. "It was a fine night, Patria." _

_ I agree. We fall back into silence, drinking slowly, stealing snatches of bread every so often. _

_ "You're cold," he says abruptly. I'm startled from my reading. Before I can even begin to protest, he's removed that red coat and placed it 'round my shoulders. I think to argue, then instead pull it closer. Opening my mouth to express thanks, he places one finger upon my lips. "It is nothing." _

_ Later, we exit the café for the ill-lit streets. The man – Enjolras – leads, while I trail behind lightly, my fingers skimming the exposed bricks of the buildings we pass. Together we drift across the cobbles, move along darken allies, quietly together. We reach the dingy – but still nice, or nicer than what I feel I am used to – tan building with blue shutters I naturally recognize as his flat. We stop before the door. I lean against the nearest lamp pole, watching him. He's look up, at his own window, which is dark. After a moment, he looks to me. _

_ "This rebellion," he says seriously. "It will succeed, will it not?"_

_ I hesitate. _

_ "You've got good sense, __Éponine. Will the people rise with us?"_

_ The use of my name – what I sense to be my true name – speaks of great gravity. The leader of the rebellion is asking me, common, simple me, my opinion of the future. Overwhelming, I struggle to think. My mind sought to feel the city's pulse._

_ With great difficulty, I speak. "I do not know, _mon cher._ It is hard to tell. They loathe the poverty, yes, but the King is so easy to love…."_

_ Enjolras turns back to his window. A long, terrifyingly quiet moment passes before he announces in a low voice, "I'm afraid, Patria."_

_ The dim light casts deep shadows over his features. His eyes are nothing more than black pits, his cheeks severe, the hollow of his throat cut with shadow…yet, despite the mask darkness throws upon him, I sense that I am seeing something purely Enjolras: despair. _

_ Biting my lip, I go to him. "That means you're being brave, Enjolras. For you cannot have courage without a little fear. There is no shame."_

_ He looks down at me. Oh, he's so tall…._

_ "Thank you, _chèri,_" he says softly, arms going around my waist. "You've no idea how much that means." _

**-XXX-**

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	6. Tomorrow is Another Day

**VI Tomorrow is Another Day**

**Sorry for the wait! So, last week I went home (which is five hours away), and had car trouble that prevented me from returning to university until Tues, so I've been scrambling to catch up on homework. Plus, we had a snow day today, which means chapter seven might take a bit...**

**-XXX-**

It's March now, and signs of our movement begin cropping up across campus. When I leave my Judaism class Wednesday I find that someone has created a rather colourful chalk mural on the sidewalk just a few feet beyond the door of the History and Religions building. A series of students bleed onto a Georgian-style building that closely resembles the administrative offices belonging to this campus. The blood changes colours, though, from pinky-red to lime green, the outline of dollar bills raining the admin offices.

I wonder who is responsible for this heavy message, seeing as our resident artist resigned. It's getting a fair bit of attention. Students purposefully move around the picture, heads, swiveling as they walked. A few stand around, gazing dubious at the chalk mural. I bite back a smile, then head to lunch.

Later in the week, on our Thursday we all congratulate Jami on her work. She's made to stand up to our scattered collection of applause. She blushes, smiling widely.

"Was it hard?" Grant calls above the group. "How'd you avoid getting caught?"

"We wore masks and wigs. Philip thought of it. We had our hoods up too. Just in case. They'll never know who it is." She waves a hand. "Like they'll really care."

"There are regulations on use of chalk on campus sidewalks," adds her boyfriend. "You have to have permission before you draw any adds. But it's not so big of a deal they'll hunt down those that don't have apparent sponsors. So, it's enough to grab some notice."

"Fantastic," enthuses James.

Brad gives Philip a playful punch in the shoulder. "Good job, man."

"It was all Jami," he says modestly, squeezing Jami's hand.

Once we're quieted, all attention goes to Enjolras. He is calm, with a subdued smile. He, too, congratulates Jami and Philip before moving straight to more ABC business. With his commanding voice, he calls each office to report. Brad, who is working on hacking the networks for emails, mentions a few roadblocks, but say that overall things are going swimmingly. He's already set out a few mass-departmental emails (nothing too mischievous, just a request that faculty gather to celebrate the birthday of a beloved member of the custodial staff). Charles, who is our mediator between other university ABC groups, tells us that there is a little dissent between the western and northwestern schools as to the amount of media coverage, and whether the leader should be interviewed. "It seems like there's already been communications between the southern schools and the _Today Show_," he explains wryly.

When it's Courtney's turn, she bites her lip slyly, hesitating before starting.

"How are we on the flyers, Courtney?" Enjolras repeats. "Will they be ready by Sunday?"

"Well…." she says slowly. "We've come across a sort of…miscommunication."

Enjolras narrows his eyes dangerously. "Miscommunication?"

"Yeah…."

The cords of his neck tighten. "We're less than a week out from the rally, Courtney. I thought you could handle this. You said you would -"

"It's just, there's been a bit of a printing issue," she says hurriedly. "Nothing too big. Only – well, they magnified our order. By about ten."

Enjolras visibly looses steam. "Wait…they printed _ten times _the posters?!"

She broke into a bright grin. "Just about. And we're getting the extra nine-hundred free of charge – because what is the print shop going to do with nine-hundred extra copies?"

For a moment, he's frozen. But then Enjolras lets out a big whoop, laughing with abandon. "Oh, that is _perfect." _He turns to us. "Oh, we are going to _paper _this campus."

And paper we do.

Monday morning, the university rises to find that every bulletin board, every lamp post, every public door, every public stall, every column, every bench, every trashcan, and every water fountain has a neon poster tacked, tapped, or pinned to it. Several local restaurants also posted in their windows and bathrooms. For those dorms not possessing community bathrooms there are flyers slid under the door of each room or suite. Every single one reads in jet-black ink:

ARE YOU STRUGGLING WITH SCHOOL DEBT? ONLY SEE THOSE BILLS RISING? WANT YOUR GOVERNMENT TO DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT? DON'T STAND BY WHILE THOSE ELECTED TO PROTECT OUR EDUCATION VOTE OUR FUNDING AWAY. EVERYONE HAD THE RIGHT TO EDUCATE THEMSELVES. DON'T LET THEM VOTE IT INTO IMPOSSIBILITY**. **COME THURSDAY THE 26TH AT 8 P.M. TO YOUNG PARK TO SHARE YOUR VOICE. ALL OUR WELCOME.

The reaction is simply beautiful. Collectively, the student body shares wild whispers of _"who?"_ There is much speculation. Those of us in ABC suppress smiles as we pass one another.

It's a thrilling kind of secret. One that hurts no one, one that sends tingles up my spine. At this point, I'm living for Thursday.

**-XXX-**

However, life and therefore school work still goes on. Enjolras and I have started meeting weekly outside of our Revolutions class so as to plan our presentation. The library doesn't hold too big of a collection specific to the June 1832 rebellions, so we've resorted to skimming massive texts for snippets of information. The internet yields a far better haul of information – unfortunately, only a few of our sources may be from internet resources.

"Selznick is a dinosaur," I murmur, referencing our almost pointedly young history professor. "To think that the internet isn't reliable enough or so hard to navigate to challenge us."

Leo, whose nose is planted firmly in a book, grunts in response. I glance up, wrinkling my nose.

"My, that's attractive."

He repeats the noise, including a more nasally quality this time. Ducking my head, I giggle. Enjolras meets my eyes, smiling. "I'm glad you think so."

He maintains eye contact just a little too long. I'm forced to drop my gaze, mumbling, "Yeah, well, you're just that good."

I hear him sigh. A few moments pass before I say, off-handedly, "Any luck?" My hand indicated the book he's currently engrossed in. It's old, leather-y, and well-worn, with thin yellowing pages.

"Yes, actually. This one actually references a few specific groups involved in the side of rebellion. Just what we've been looking for…." He drifts off.

"Can I see?"

"Yeah." He makes a _"come hither" _gesture with a few fingers, instead of passing the book. With a mock sigh, I rise and cross to lean over him. My breasts just brush his back. I freeze at the contact but Enjolras doesn't notice. His fingers are outlining the specific passages. I browse for a few seconds. It's all very interesting stuff, detailing several rebel groups. All were rather common people. Upper class and middle, mostly. It's all pretty standard stuff -

That is, until I hit on a particular section referring to a student group known as the _Les Amis de l'ABC. Friends of the ABC. _I stop reading altogether, noting the incredible coincidence. Tempted to ask Leo if this group at all inspired the name of his group, I open my mouth, but another name off the yellowed page jumps out at me.

_"…Enjolras, the appointed leader of the _Les Amis de l'ABC_, perished not in the barricades as his brethren, but in a wine café a few blocks away, with his another of his fellows…." _

My very core is chilled upon reading that snippet of a sentence. "Leo? Do you recognize this name?"

He's looking directly at me. Eyes dark. Maybe even hard. Like maybe he's daring me to ask. "Friends of the ABC? Yes, quite the coincidence."

Slowly, I shake my head. "No, no - I mean, not just that one."

My finger taps the aged paper, nail touching the brown ink. His eyes follow the length of my hand. He reads. Then, without comment, leans back.

"It's your name," I finally say quietly. "Funny, right? Lot of similarities. Rebellions for a common cause…groups of students gathering to fight under the letters ABC…and then both groups sharing a leaders named…well. It's not terribly common, is it?"

He's silent, then states slowly. "I've never met another Enjolras, aside from my father. It's entirely possible we're related." A bitter smile settles into place. "Perhaps there'd be more if he'd survived the battle. But then again…he doesn't sound like much of a man. More like a coward. Running away from the barricades after his brothers had fallen. For a bar." He snorts. "Nice."

Tentative, I put a hand on his, which rests, curled, on the table. My fingers work to unfurl his, after which I lace them together with mine. "Hey. You don't know that."

But he's not to be soothed. With a sigh, he closes the book, then squeezes my hand. "It's the best bet we have. Besides, Gabriel Enjolras is the nearest we have to a common rebellion leader. So we'll have to use him."

I frown. "Gabriel? I didn't see any first name." My eyes narrow as my partner grows sheepish. "You've see him before – in another book!"

"I didn't _want _to use him!" Enjolras growls, defensive. His hand tightens against mine.

"Tough! We _need _him, Leo, he's the best we've got – especially if you found more information, and a first name! We can use it to look up more records. I doubt this guy has a Wiki page. Tell me you wrote down where you initially found him."

"Yeah, I put them all down," he grumbles.

_"All_? Just how many are we talking?"

He releases a huff of hot air. "Five, or so."

"Five?! Leo, that could've saved us a lot of time. Tell me everything. We can cite it a put it in the slide show later."

So he does. For almost twenty minutes, Enjolras goes over all he's collected (which is a surprising bit) about Leon Gabriel Enjolras, who lived from 1812 to 1832, was the youngest son of a marquis, and a student of law and philosophy at Sorbonne. He was hooked into the cause at eighteen and rose to found and lead his own group of students into the barricades. All in his group died, except a Pontmercy, who also managed to escape. Their barricade was just another failed post.

"He sounds a lot like you, Leo. It'd be hard to believe you're not related."

He rolls his eyes. "There would be about eight generations between us. I highly doubt it's a close relation."

"That doesn't mean you can't be like him. Because it seems like you're a lot. C'mon, Enjolras, isn't this even a little exciting for you? You might have just found one of your own kin in the pages of a history book. Tell me that's not cool!" I'm sitting next to him now, completely eye level. One hand goes to his knee. He jerks forward slightly when my fingers brush his patella.

"I am," he concedes. "But it's still…a lot. Weird. I do feel a…connection," he admits. "Of some nature. It's nothing, though. Just a feeling."

"You don't give them enough credit," I say, and he gives me a queer look. "Feelings," I clarify. "You don't listen to them nearly enough. All stuff and logic."

This is said fondly enough, but I still catch the edge in Leo's less-than-happy gaze. I elect to ignore it, instead suggesting we turn back to our books.

**-XXX-**

Nearly two weeks have passed since I confronted Marcus at the ABC meeting. While we'd seen one another at meetings and occasionally across campus, neither of us had yet to say anything to the other. I don't quite mind – while a part of me is saddened by this, it's almost better for me. I simply don't think about him as much.

Enjolras is a big help as well, for he seems to be utterly determined to sway my heart away from it's Marcus-fixation through a variety of distractions which include, but are not limited to: long car rides, coffee dates, studying, discussing the efforts of the ABC, working on homework silently together, reviewing what shall be sent out in the mass email to the student body, more studying, dinner, reading aloud, discussing our futures, ignoring our pasts, taking late-night walks, and simply talking.

So far it's succeeding. At this rate I'll soon fall for Leo right about when I'm entirely out of love with Marcus.

_"Ha. Totally." _

**-XXX-**

"You look horrible," Enjolras announces Tuesday morning, unceremoniously dropping into the desk next to mine.

My lips curl. "Gee," I reply in a monotone, scowling into my notebook. "Thanks."

He chuckles. "That sounded bad. What I meant was, my, you look so lovely yet weary, my dear." His voice drops down to its normal tone. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah," I sigh. "Just…having issues sleeping, lately."

"Oh yeah? Why?"

I bite my lip. _"It's a silly excuse." _But it's my only excuse. "Dreams," I say finally. "Really vivid, really weird dreams."

Leo frowns. "What kind of dreams."

So I tell him. Quickly, as class is about to start, all about the dreamings I have of being a grungy homeless person in the 1800s who hangs out with a bunch of way richer college guys that all have super-French names. With each new detail Enjolras's face grows more and more stony, his lips tightening. I glance at the clock as I wrap things up. He opens his mouth, then shuts it when Valerius waltzes in, tossing his bag on the front table without so much as a pause, going straight to the board to scribble down something-or-other. Leo and I don't speak, nor do we so much as look at each other, for the duration of the class.

It's only later, in the Union, tucked into a corner and seated in a pair of arm chairs that have seen better days, that we speak.

"These dreams…."he starts, drifting off, eyes on his tea bag, which looks pitiful sitting in the overturned lid of his cardboard cup.

"Weird, right?" I say quietly.

"No." His hands, resting on either side of the cup, curl to fists. "Not weird. Familiar."

Now it's my turn to frown. "What?"

He hesitates.

I cross my arms. "Leo," I say softly. "Tell me." No response, so I try again. "Please."

With a sigh, he offers a hand. I grasp it immediately, squeezing tightly.

"They're familiar because I've been having dreams very, very similar to yours. Except I'm not homeless and I'm definitely not a girl and I'm still Enjolras."

"That…so odd," I manage. "But it makes sense!" He casts me a quizzical gaze and I rush to continue. "We've been studying so much about these French rebellions. Of course it's going to seep in somewhere. It's all subconscious, right? Getting into our dreams? I mean, with our own efforts –" Here I lower my voice. "—being so similar, it's bound to happen. It's like, all of our passion for the ABCs is coming out in our dreams, mixed with all the stuff we've studied about the 1832 rebellion."

"But they're so alike, Eveline," he says, voice strained. My hand gets another squeeze. "I mean, what happens in yours…it's just like mine."

"Leo," I sooth, but he continues.

"They're so alike."

I shake my head. "It's stress. A coincidence. Really weird, really funny coincidence. Right?"

He holds my gaze in his for a long moment. The intensity – all the worry, stress, and frustration – leaves me a little lightheaded. I take his other hand in mine, tracing the knuckles.

"Yes," he tells me, looking down at our combined limbs. "Yes, of course you're right. It's stress. Subconscious comparison of our situation. Of course."

**-XXX-**

**Reviews are golden! Thank you so much for reading! **


	7. The Colours of the World

**VII The Colors of the World Are Changing**

**I posted this a little earlier than anticipated. I thought these next two weeks would be busy (what with midterms and 4 or so papers due). And they'll still be busy, however, tomorrow we're getting a snow day. Hopefully I can get caught up on these chapters. Eight is nearly done, nine is getting there. We'll see...two-ish weeks to spring break! **

**Thank you so much for your lovely reviews! I love reading them. You guys have definitely inspired me. More than a few plot points were essentially sparked by your comments! **

**-XXX-**

On Thursday I wake slowly, then stay in bed for nearly twenty minutes, just staring a the ceiling and thinking. Tonight is the night of the rally in the park. Our big stand, gathering the students, coming together for a common cause. It's a little overwhelming to consider. Three months of planning and we're _starting. _

"_Enjolras's big day."_

The thought is enough to make me smiles.

Finally I manage to pull myself from under my comforter, coaxing my sleep-ridden limbs from beneath the warmth slowly. I stretch a bit before going about my morning routine – water in the microwave for tea, bustling about to find clothes, selecting my books for the day, etc. Unwilling to go through the motions of curling or straightening my hair, I make a quick braid. I select a French blue shirt, cream-coloured cami, pairing them with mocha skinny jeans and off-white flats.

Enjolras once complimented me on this shirt. The memory pleases me. I smile, then scold myself. _"As if he'll care….he's got bigger fish to fry today, Eveline!" _

I finish my preparations with mechanical focus, then head to class. My friend is waiting for me. Leopold is in a brilliant mood – mildly at-ease and cheerful. I take my seat next to him.

"You look nice," he says.

"Oh, thank you," I reply lightly. My chest tightens, and I smile widely. Lowering my voice – Valerius is not in the room yet, but it never hurts to be subtle. "How are you? Feeling ready for…tonight?"

"Very," he confirms. "I am quite well, thanks. And you, Eveline?"

I'm nervous. But I don't say this. Instead, I reach out to him, placing my hand on his, opening my mouth to say -

Valerius sweeps in, clutching a chipped mug with the Wonder Bread logo blazing across its belly, flinging his bag upon the front table. When he turns on his heels his eyes fall directly on me. Or, rather, my hand. The hand that is touching Enjolras's. He coughs, then begins scribbling on the board.

The lecture period passes as usual. I don't think much of Valerius's awkward gaze until after class is dismissed. As we rise to gather our things, I hear Jon Valerius call out above the rustle of jackets, bookbags, and notepads, "Eveline, might you pause in your departure. I need to see you for moment in my office."

Enjolras pauses, looking at me with concern-coloured eyes. I purse my lips, trying my best to look reassuring. "I'll meet you in the Union later," I promise. "Just give me a few. It's probably something to do with my outline."

With trepidation I follow in the professor's brisk wake to his office, standing in the doorway as he seats himself in the rolley chair with splitting seams. Once settled, he stares at me with an unflinching gaze. "Sit, please."

It's said warmly enough, but has the feel of an order nonetheless. I take a seat, letting my bag drop from my shoulder to the floor in one smooth motion.

"Is this about my outline, sir? I know my third point is a little vague, but with some more evidence I know it will be –"

He holds up a hand, effectively cutting me off. "No, no, it's nothing of that nature. You outline is fine, polished, as always. No, Eveline, I was hoping to ask you how long you and your friends think you can personally avoid the attention of the administration?"

I sit back. "Oh. Well."

Valerius smiles lightly, placing his hands upon his desk. "It was not so hard to discern. I mean, the flyers aren't direct clue to who, exactly, is behind the uproar. But you are not the only ones to frequent the Muse Diner. And not everyone in this town is obtuse enough to let a significant crowd of college students go unsuspected. Besides," he adds, smiling. "My daughter's boyfriend has obvious difficultly in being discreet. He's definitely mentioned it a time or two, when he thought I was not in the vicinity. Names…among other things."

"You're the reason Coleen stopped doing graphics for us," I blurt, making fists in my lap. "You didn't want her to get into trouble."

"It might have come up around the dinner table," he admits. Then, in utter seriously. "This is a dangerous cause. Protests that go against the school and state…." Valerius shakes his head. "You can understand why I wanted Coleen out of it. Why I would like you all out of the matter. I do agree with your cause, do not mistake me! But that does not mean I do not fear for you."

"So…."

"I'm simply warning you," he says lightly. "Someone ought to. And I know what it's like to have something of your youth follow you throughout your life…." At this, Valerius winces. "Do be careful. Marcus probably did not think much of his words, but a reminder that unguarded voices could sink ships – or permanent records – would not go amiss."

I stand. "Well, thank you, sir. It means a lot that you…thank you."

He smiles faintly. "Please be careful, Ms. Theard. I'd hate to miss your face in class."

Before I leave, however, I linger back. "Dr. Valerius. You said you did something when you were young that has followed you…does that something have anything to do with President Giffard?"

For a full breath, Jon Valerius stares.

"Why….whatever might have given you that impression?"

Quietly, I say, "I saw you arguing a few months ago. He wasn't very nice."

"No," Valerius agrees. "He was not." The professor sighs. "I cannot tell you, Eveline, precisely what you saw, except that it was a personal matter, stemming from something that occurred a long time ago that weighs upon are president's mind. Dr. Giffard and I are still dealing with it. Clearly we need to better communicate and solve this issue between each other. I am sorry you had to see that."

"Dr. Giffard is not as easy-going man," I say softly. "I'm sorry you had to deal with him at all. Whatever it is…I hope everything works out."

"Thank you, Eveline."

I do not linger, but nod quietly, then swiftly take leave to find Enjolras. We still have a few hours before the gathering in Young Park, and he needs to have a talk with certain members of the ABCs.

**-XXX-**

Leo isn't exactly happy when I tell him Valerius is aware of us. It's one thing for our cause to be known by the faculty and administration, but another thing entirely for them to realize who, specifically, is behind it. The grip around Leo's coffee cup tightens dangerously, so I rush to reassure him of the professor's silence.

"He won't reveal us," I sooth. "He's not the kind of a person. Besides, Coleen is involved, and so is Marcus. He would not risk putting both of them into trouble."

"But Coleen never came to any meetings," he points out tersely.

"So tell everyone to swear that she did, if we're caught and it's his doing." It's not a nice thing to do, but Enjolras demands insurance. "Marcus won't, but they're dating so it's to be expect that he will try to protect her. Otherwise…."

He sighs. "I don't like it, but it's our best option. Alright. We'll spread the word tonight, before the rally."

"Good."

**-XXX-**

Later, he calls me. I'm lounging around in my dorm, working my way through some Religions reading. I answer promptly, as soon as I see his name on the ID. Worry floods me – perhaps we've been found out, or the plans have changed.

"Hello?"

"Eveline,"

I wait.

"I forgot, earlier, to ask," he pauses. "How are students feeling? Do you think…do you think tonight will be a success?"

Ah. I'm being called to my duty as social pulse. I smile into the receiver. "Yes, Leo. They're definitely coming. I rarely go more than an hour without hearing someone mention it. They'll come. Maybe not all of them will stand with us. But they're curious. And that's something."

I can practically hear his smile. "Yeah. That is something."

**-XXX-**

At six-thirty we meet at the park. There is a big sort of field in the back area of the park. In the summer it's quite common to see hoards of people laying the sun, having picnics, reading. Sometimes kids play soccer, or Frisbee, or catch with their dog. It's just a big, multi-purpose space. Perfect for us. Towards the very back of this field is a line of sapplings, along with one massive oak. The oak stands alone, nearly center, with a trunk that's roughly as wide as a doorway. It's here we'll build our stage.

Charles and Brad both have friends in the Activities office, and managed to snag us a pre-built stage. It's ten-foot-by-ten, not incredibly huge, but enough to hold Enjolras and Charles and whomever else our leader chooses to represent us. The boys are already here when we arrive, and are nearly done with the stage.

Someone I don't know is setting up the speakers and the mic. When I ask, they tell me they've got a few connections in the theater department, and therefore have easy access to the equipment. For a while I help them connect cords and place speakers, but soon that work is done.

Philip, Jami, and Courtney are working on the lights.t Being an arts student, Jami has access to photography equipment, which includes massive, studio-ready lights. Somewhere someone found a generator, and at the moment they're connecting everything so that we might have a little light out here – the park does have some, but they're closer to the front, making the field more than a little dim. While we're on daylight savings, and therefore seven will still be relatively light, we're taking precautions.

A few of the others have been posted to watch for our audience and direct them towards the field. I was not given an assignment, so I settle into the grass, watching the boys construct the stage and helping them place it center to the oak.

We've picked a good place. Young isn't too near any houses – it is something of a more rural park. It's big, known about campus, and easy to find. The oak certainly adds to the drama of things, anyways.

At six-fifty we hear cars hit the gravel parking lot, and start to see figures crossing the field. I can feel the energy crackling in the air between the ABCs. At least twenty students are making their way too us, and it's only ten-till.

I find Enjolras behind the oak, breathing deeply. He is reviewing the three or so notecards onto which he as outlined his speech. Lips tight, his eyes skim the cards with breakneck speed.

"Are you ready?" I ask softly.

Leo looks up, startled. "Eveline." He puts his cards into his rear pocket, then offers his hands.

I come to him, sliding my hands into his, staring up into his eyes. They're bright, practically electrical. I see no worry, no fear. But against my fingers, the pulse of his wrist flutters wildly.

"You look nice."

He's wearing some brown trousers (trousers, not jeans. Not very young, but it works), a fresh white v-neck, and a scarlet zip-up hoodie. His blonde curls are mussed, as though he's been running his fingers through the locks repeatedly.

"It's going to be perfect," I assure him. "You're so good at this. Just go up there and tell them the truth."

He smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Will you come with me?"

I'm surprised. "What?"

"I need at least one more person beside me. The others will be along the stage, to the side. But I want you beside me."

"But…Jami, Brad, they've done more. They're _doing _so much more."

"You're my pulse," he says seriously. "I need you to feel them out, get a tone for the crowd. Can you do that for me, Eveline?"

"I could do that from off the stage. Enjolras, I'll be no good up there, put Courtney beside you," I plead. Courtney is beautiful and tall and blonde and so much more appealing than me.

Entirely seriously, he pulls me closer. "Eveline Theard. I _need_ you there with me. Please."

What an intoxicating moment. My breast are brushing his chest, allowing me to feel every breath as it rises and falls. His hands are around my wrists, and one knee is between my legs. Though wiry, Enjolras's body easily envelops mine. I squirm, fearful someone might pass by and see us like this.

I look up at him, very aware of the lack of distance between our faces – a mere inch or two, hardly any more. If I wanted to, I could kiss him right now. I'd barely have to lift my neck. His lips are right there. And I could have them. If I wanted -

"Say yes," he breathes, nosing my cheek. A few of his curls brush my forehead. I shiver.

"Alright," I whisper back.

He sighs in relief. I am tugged closer again. A gentle kiss is press into my cheek. Then – distance.

"You just need to stand there with me, look brave and rebel-like," he instructs. Back is the lead of the Friends of the ABCs. Back is Leopold Enjolras. "Figure out what they're feeling."

"Enjolras, what about…well, the lights? People know you, they know _us. _This will put faces and names to the ABCs. Just what we were hoping to avoid with Valerius." The thought sends me into a panic. The others have less to loose – I'm here mostly on scholarship. If I am expelled, then there is little chance another school will be as willing to give me scholarships, whereas most of my ABC friends might easily pay there way into another institution.

"Lights," he says simply. "They'll be directed on the crowd, not us. We'll be relatively in shadow. We will have digression."

Grant finds us. He's a little tipsy already, from what I can tell. "Enjy, we're ready."

Enjolras clasps his friend's shoulder. "Already, Grant?" He _tsks_. "How many?"

"Drinks or people?" his friend asks wryly. Enjolras is silent.

"Oh, at least in the hundreds," Grant estimates. He removes a flask from the interior of his jacket, allows himself a swig, then furrows his brow. "Perhaps three-hundred."

Enjolras's lips twist into a smile. "Not bad at all. Where is Charles?"

In what feels like no time, I find myself on stage. Before us is a massive of people, a crowd of faces, all waiting to hear Enjolras speak. Our leader stands center, the microphone in his hands. Charles is on his left, I'm on the right. All of the others ABCs stand along the base of the stage. For a moment all it quiet. Then, it begins.

"My fellow students. May I commend you for coming here. It shows that your, too, have been affected by this refusal to grant us education, and that you are willing to listen. Willing to listen to solutions.

For there are solutions to be found. But we, unfortunate, can only influence action. Do you know who can bring change about? Your administration. Your senators. Your state and national legislature. Now tell me, how many of you have noticed your scholarships lowering and your tuition is rising?" Nearly every hand rises. "And how many of you have seen entire scholarships disappear altogether?" Fewer hands, but it's still at least half of the crowd.

"Now, obviously, the country has hit some hard times. But we're on the way to recovery. Even so, they're not turn their attentions to things that matter – equal rights, improving our cities, or education. In public schools we're seeing budgets slashed and teachers fired left and right. Here, at universities, we're also seeing major budget cuts – up for forty percent in some places. This isn't hitting teachers' salaries, though, but us – the students. While our senators are spending their time on pet-projects they're ignoring our education. How is this nation to have any future if it's youth and potential leaders are not able to educate themselves? Everyone should be allowed the chance to educate themselves without having to practically slave themselves out. That is not how our country works. Yes, we are a nation that encourages work. You ought to work for all that you get. But even so, it shall be quite difficult for most of us to find that work if we are without a college education

"We need to show them – the government, the administration, the media – that we know what's going on. That we're aware, and that we demand change. We shall not idly stand by as our chances at an education are washed away by personal greed! We must have change, and we must make them see it."

"How?" someone calls out.

"Good question." Enjolras smiles.

"You could be one of the very politicians you're fighting against," Charles murmurs. I snicker.

"You've already taken your first step here," our leader continues, unphased. "We've still got a ways to go. Spread the word. Remind people that things didn't used to be like this, and that they can be changed. And then wait. In less than two week's time we, along with universities around the state and around the nation shall rise together in peaceful protest. We must emphasize that this is _peaceful. _Our aim is to pull attention to our voices – not our fists. If this turns violent, we aren't just some kid trying to make a change, we become thugs." Enjolras's brows rise briefly, clearing imparting his warning. "This shall be a protest of words. Not violence."

There is a cheer. Together the ABCs buzz with nervous excitement. _"We're getting approval." _

"Thank you," Enjolras say, completely beaming now. "But this cannot be accomplished without you – without your voices, we are a mere few. A chess club." More laughter. "So please. Bring your voices. Tell others. And wait for a sign."

Applause and cheering follows. He's captured the crowd.

For another half-hour, we take questions. It becomes more of a conversation that a speech. As people begin to take their leave more flyers – we had a couple hundred in excess – are passed around by Jami and Courtney, who both wear hoodies with the hoods up.

We break the stage, lights, and sound system down, then together load everything into the back of cars, after which they'll be carefully replace to their proper departments tomorrow. Someone Marcus and I end up carrying the same section of stage together. We smile awkwardly, then proceed to the pickup.

Afterwards we gather in the parking lot and it is decide we'll meet at the Muse before the night is over to celebrate our success. In the rush, I find myself in Joe Leigh's car. Enjolras flashes me a look, then gets into a car with Charles.

At the Muse, he hangs back as the others get out of their cars, then practically snatches me from besides Joe Leigh and Brad, taking my elbow. From the elbow, his fingers trail down to my wrist, then my hand. I look up at him, but Enjolras is staring straight forward, eyes crinkled in a smile. The group wanders inside, laughing and chatting and bickering to our usual corner of booths. Enjolras directs us to the center booth, seating us directing in the middle. I turn away, biting my lip. Unabashed, he places our combined hands upon the table.

Glances pass our way, but no one says a word. I see half-smiles, bitten lips, and full grins. Even the waitress pauses when she gets to us, slow beam growing on her face. I feel myself color. When our food arrives, he finally releases me. Once our meal is finished and congratulations dished out we linger over coffee and warm words. Finally, people begin to trail outside. Enjolras takes up my hand again. Wordlessly, he leads me to his car.

Once inside, I sigh. "I don't particularly enjoy this whole 'let's-treat-Eveline-like-she's-a-dog-on-a-leash' game."

Leo, in the midst of backing out, grins. "Sorry. I just…wanted to be near you."

"Seemed like a lot more than that," I murmur. He winces.

"I apologize."

"Oh, no," I say faintly. "No need…I suppose it wasn't all bad."

He glances at me quickly before turning his eyes back on the road. "You mean you weren't in agony the entire time?"

"Not quite." I pause. "It's just unlike you."

"I'm in a good mood," he admits. "And, I thought, the only thing that would make me feel even better is you. I hope you don't mind."

I certainly don't.

**-XXX-**

**Whoa! Things are getting physical! **

**Also, we had our first big strike in the plan. What do you think? Reviews would be fantastic! **


	8. A World Turned into Darkness

**VIII A World Turn into Darkness **

**A lot of the scenery that is mentioned around their campus is a lot like my university. Then again, I'd say most schools have a pretty basic standard of Union with coffee shop, some variation of a garden, and if it's an older school, some kind of church or other historic building on-site.**

**OnginalMaz said they wanted to see more A) physical business and B) something to be found about Eponine in their research for their Rebellion project.**

**Several people mentioned this, and all I can say is whoa nelly! Relationship take time, right? We'll get there…maybe. **

**While she was the first to fall, I doubt many historians would know that. Everyone in those barricades died – except Marcus, of course – so really all I'd imagine would've been reported on would be pre-battle and deaths. I imagined that there simply wouldn't be much info on the ABCs anyways, as they weren't a large group and all of them kicked it. I'm not going to have them "discover" her in any fashion, primarily because I feel the dreams compensate for this matter. **

**-XXX-**

The following Thursday, I check my Gmail to find an interesting note in my inbox. One that, according to the contacts line is from the school.

THE TIME HAS COME TO RISE AGAINST THE FALL IN SCHOLARSHIPS AND FINANCIAL AID AND COME TOGETHER TO SHOW OUR ADMISTRATION AND OUR SENATORS WE ARE WILLING TO FIGHT FOR OUR RIGHT TO EDUCATION. JOIN US AT THE FOUNTAINS BEFORE CLARA THOMAS TOMORROW AT EIGHT P.M. TO MAKE A STAND AND LET YOUR VOICES BE HEARD.

I sat back into my chair. _"It's really happening." _

Later in the day I see Enjolras - only, it's not in Revolutionary History, it's just outside of the class. He's waiting for me, leaning against the wall. Without so much as a hello he approaches, taking me into his arms.

"Um, hi. Are you…ready for class?"

"No," he says shortly. "Let's get coffee."

"Um. After class?"

"Nope, now." And he begins steering me back towards the stairs.

"Leo, I don't want to skip –"

"I need to talk with you," he says urgently. "Please, just…indulge me. Besides, we're not missing anything important, I swear. Besides, haven't we logged in enough hours working on our project?"

He has a point.

But instead of going to the Union, Leo takes me to the sunken garden. It's this small sunk-in area behind the old chapel that sits in the middle of campus. A small birdbath sits in the center, surrounded by unopened tulips. The perimeter is surrounded by young birches and skinny pines, with the back line defined by the wall of the church. Very secluded, it's favored by couples and people who enjoy doing their homework outdoors. There is a pair of covered benches that sit on each end of the garden, capping off the length. Blooming vines weave in and out of the cherry-colored lattice. It's here that Enjolras takes me.

We're alone. Even so, I sit back shyly, sinking into the shadows of the vine drapery. Enjolras says nothing to this, merely raises his brows.

"Do I make you uncomfortable?"

I protest. "Of course not."

"I worry this…elevated physical contact makes you uneasy. I don't want to scare you."

"Leo." My voice is firm. "I might be a little…nervous, about this. But you're not scaring me. You never scare me." _"Though, perhaps intimidate, at times," _I mentally acknowledge. _"but that is your position, as out leader."_

He reaches out. "You must forgive me. I don't usually behave this way. In such a commandeering fashion."

This makes me laugh. "Oh no, that's not like you at all."

Relaxation melts over him. "Okay, perhaps it is."

"It's definitely you."

"I'm not so good with my words."

"That is entirely a lie," I declare. "You're a very gifted orator. You're just not skilled at putting your more…emotional feeling into words. Your logical feelings? Easy as pie. But your feelings-feelings? Not so much."

His lips twist into a half-smile. "Then let me try. You mean a lot to me, Eveline."

Shyly, I smile, biting my lip. "Nice start."

"I'm not done," he warns. "I don't know what exactly we have, but I know I like it and I know I'm probably messing everything up, so you need to tell me when that happens because I….I want this. I want this to work. And now isn't exactly the best time, with the protests and our efforts coming to fruition. After everything is over, though, I hope we'll…decide where to go."

"I'd like that."

Again, he visibly relaxes. But there is something still giving him an edge. I tilt my head and wait.

"Tomorrow," he sighs. "It's here. Our efforts, coming to culmination."

"Yes."

He looks at me, a curious kind of tint to his gaze. "Eveline, I don't want you at the fountains tomorrow."

I'm flabbergasted. "What?"

"I know you want to be there. But I'm not going to let you risk you education."

"Leo, I've got to go. It's what we've worked for. I've been with you almost every step of the way." There is a panic rising in me. I feel heat rising to my face.

He shakes his head. It's clear that this is painful to him as well, but nevertheless he surges on. "I couldn't forgive myself if you were expelled. Evie, I know, you've put so much into tonight. But please, stay away. Trust me. It can carry on without you."

A flicker of realization strikes me. My voice turns deathly quiet. "I'm _not _Coleen."

Recoiling, Enjolras frowns. "I wasn't saying you were."

"But you're treating me like Marcus treats her," I cry. "I am no delicate songbird. I can do this. With such a crowd as we'll have, it shall be impossible for them to single anyone of us out. There is little danger in my standing out there with you. Enjolras, I don't want to be a coward!"

"You are no coward," he sooths. "Everyone knows you are strong, Eveline. No one will think less of you for it, especially if they know it was I who asks it of you. " His hands find my hair, beginning to stoke the dark locks. It's a very intimate motion that succeeds – slightly – in relaxing me. "Please, I cannot bear to have you there if there is even a slight chance…you're risking more than the rest of us. You're here on scholarship. The rest of us could manage at another school. But you…." He drifts off.

"No. Don't make me. I want to be with all of you. I don't care. Leo, Leo, I want to be with you. What if you're caught? I can't leave you. If you jump, I jump."

"Is that from _Titanic?" _He snorts. "If I get in trouble, it's on my own neck. But I won't let you fall with me."

"Leo –"

"Please," he says.

For a moment – just a moment – I think I can agree. I believe that, for his happiness, I can remain back. I can keep away from the fight. And I would do it for him.

But all too soon, the moment passed. _"I can't leave them there. I can't leave _him _there. If we fall, we fall together." _

Instead of this, however, I say, "If you will insist, Leo."

"Promise me?"

"Yes."

He sinks in relief. "Thank you. This is hard, I know. Know that I would not ask this of you if I didn't think it was the best option. I want to protect you, Eveline."

"I understand."

He still looks a little wary, however, even after I press a reassuring kiss into this cheek. I bury my head in the crook between his neck and shoulder, enjoying the feel of his chest rising and falling, the way he inhales the scent of my hair, how our fingers intertwine just so.

Lying is not something I particularly relish. Especially not to my friends. Yet, I cannot imagine not being there tomorrow. This is _our moment. _Everything we've worked for. How could I miss that? The protest is our centerpiece. As Enjolras's pulse reader, I ought to be there. I'm good with feeling the crowds.

We sit together, quietly, for an hour. Then, slowly, we make to part. Enjolras kisses my crown lightly before we go our separate ways. Then he cups face, asking, "Will you meet me tomorrow, before 8? Wish me luck?"

I smile. "Of course."

**-XXX-**

La Seine _is sedated tonight. The black waters ripple gently with the evening wind. She does not rear up however, and there is no rage in her flow. I don't tend to trust rivers. _

_ Enjolras sit, contemplating the dark waters with a heavily furrowed brow. Though, his brow tends to be quite serious normally. I lounge next to him, having propped myself up against the stone wall with my elbows. Sitting had been getting uncomfortable, but I was unwilling to leave my friend on his lonesome; tonight is too haunted for me to do such a thing, no matter how tedious river-watching may be at midnight. And so, I wait. _

_ Finally, he speaks. _

_ "It's tomorrow."_

_ "Yes," I agree, unsure of what else I might add. _

_ He looks at me, eyes painfully bright. Most of this evening was spent in preparation for the funeral tomorrow, among other plans. My friend spend most of his day and a good part of the night pouring over maps, writing correspondence to other champions of our cause, encouraging his fellows to focus. His voice is hoarse. "It's going to be grand. Our rising…."_

_ "Yes," I say again. "Of course it will be. _

_ Eyes turn back to _La Seine. _I must admit, I am rather jealous of the attention he is showing her tonight. _

_ "Eponine," my friend begins quietly. "I do not want to see you there tomorrow. At the funeral procession or in the barricade."_

_ I start. "Had you expected to?" I ask, innocently. _

_ He lets out a half-laugh. "Yes, I did. Surely you'd go to follow Marius."_

_ "And not you? You did not think of yourself, monsieur?"_

_ Another chuckle, this one a little more bleak. "No. I did not."_

_ Silence falls between us again. Then -_

_ "I expect the people to rise in our cause. But even so – just in caution – I -" he stops, pausing to gather words. "I don't want you to be there. For your safety."_

_ My heart warms. "Whatever you wish, Monsieur Enjolras.."_

_ The picture twists. And, suddenly, I'm not quite…there. I mean, I can still see. But my body isn't corporal – I'm observing from another place. But that's not what is remarkable. _

_ It's a barren little room with broken chairs, scattered books and flags. Grungy. Several men occupy it – a few in bright military coats. Two others, sweaty and dirty and terrible fierce in the face, stand with the backs to an open window. They're rigid in their posture, eyes dark, brows furrowed. _

_ All I can truly see is a determined Enjolras, face tight, solid as marble. It contorts. He falls back. Out into the blue-grey of sky. Falling, back into the window. Legs twisted in scarlet, he hangs, pitifully, upside down, for all the world to see. _

**-XXX-**

I sit up, stock-straight, chest heaving. Reaching up, I feel my cheeks – slick and wet with tears. My entire body quakes. My head goes between my heads, propped up on my knees. I close my eyes. "_What a terrible dream." _ When my shoulders finally stop shaking, I look up.

My bed is situated directly across from our bathroom door, on which is a full-length mirror. I examine myself. Red, watery eyes. Pale face, pale lips and cheeks. Strained expression. Hands that refuse to stop their tremor. Overall, I look terrible. Exhausted, weak, strained. I want to cry all over again.

Instead, I reach for my cell phone. I dial the number quickly, although it takes me several tries, as my nervous fingers continuously fumble.

A groggy response greets me. "Hello?"

As soon as I hear his voice I burst into tears. A much more alert greeting follows. "Eveline? What's wrong?"

"Leo, Leo, it was terrible," I sob into the line, barely distinguishable.

"What's wrong?" he repeats, panicked.

"I had one of t-those dream," I stutter. "One of those dreams."

"What was so terrible about it? They don't normally cause you to behave like this. What happened?" he demands.

"You," I manage, nearly whispering. "Leo, I… you were in it. You were in it and I think you were dead."

He is quiet.

I shift to stare out the window. There is a big, open sort of field just beyond the sidewalk. I can remember the stark whiteness of winter months. The barren expanse it would turn into after a night of snow. I can remember days of crossing that field. Snowball fights. Benches line the edge. I was sitting one of those benches at the beginning of the semester when Marcus and Leo across me.

"What happened?" he finally asks.

I take a breath. "I was there and you were there and we were talking, then the picture moved and you…and you…."

"How?"

"I just told you!"

"No, you didn't, " he says patiently. "That was not a story. That was a jumble of words."

So I explain, taking deep breaths between, what, precisely, happened. He listens. When I reach the end, Enjolras sooths me with gentle words.

"It was just a dream," he promises. "Just a weird…dream."

There is a catch to his voice.

"Are you alright Leo?" I inquire softly.

My friend sighs. "I…had a similar dream earlier."

I gasp. "What?"

"I was dying. You weren't there, though, that time…..They've been happening…lately. Dreams of revolution. Death." He takes a breath. "It's subconscious. All that studying. It's stuck in our minds."

There is a pause. "You died?" I ask.

"Yes."

This is said without any pain, shock, or inflexion. Very-matter-of-fact.

"Oh." Then – "Oh Leo, that's terrible. What's happening to us?" Distress is rising in my voice once more. Enjolras hurries to calm me.

"I don't know. But it's a little late to figure this out. I'm sorry." He's sincere. "I'm sorry this scared you."

I breathe gently. "Thank you so much. I'm sorry to call you so late…"

"It's no problem. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yes," I sigh.

**-XXX-**

On Friday, at five o'clock, a knock sounds at my door. I rush to answer, checking through the peephole to make sure it's the proper guest. I hold back a wide smile as I open the door. Enjolras enters, and somehow I find myself less than a foot from him. He grins down at me. Despite his evident happiness, a note of nervousness shines in his crystalline eyes.

"We're nearly there," he tells me, half-grinning. "Tonight, everything changes. Because of _us."_

I smile back, a little bittersweetly. In a sudden rush of joy, Leo sweeps me up to spin us 'round the room, laughing. I giggle madly, unable to prevent myself from sharing in his excitement. A moment of something-like-bliss passes between us, until we're spinning more slowly, staring at each other with delight-crinkled eyes, somewhere between laughing and crying. That's when he kisses me.

It's sort of in a rush – he quickly stoops to press his lips to mine, as though he's scared the moment shall pass. But, at the same time, it's gentle. Enjolras is holding me as delicately as though I were made of crystal. His hands rest lightly on my forearms, one migrating up to my chin, tilting it upwards. For a moment I am frozen; entirely unsure of what to do. I soon begin to warm to him, though, and return the kiss with just as much affection and enthusiasm, which only makes Leo smile against my lips. And the something-like-bliss is back. Only, now, I'm beginning to suspect it's actually bliss.

We break apart, lungs weeping for air. He looks down at me with something like happy disbelief.

"I've wanted to do that for a while," he admits. "I'm sorry if….if it was too forward, I –"

I silence him with a soft kiss on the cheek. "No. Not too forward at all."

"Good."

Awkwardness soon claims us. Sheepish, Enjolras begins to depart.

"Wish me luck." He pauses. "I truly wish you could be there, Eveline."

_"Then let me come."_

"Be careful," I murmur. "Come back 'round tomorrow?"

"If I'm not incarcerated." He winces, looking down at the carpet. "Yes. If at all possible."

Another quick kiss (this one doesn't quiet steal my breath, but is nice nonetheless) and he's gone. I wait three full minutes before stealing to my closet to remove the baggy skater-style pants, flannel button down, nondescript white sneakers, and black baseball cap that lay in a bundle on the floor. With the help of a few friends – such as Brad (who does not approve) and Charles (who approves slightly more), I managed to come up with this disguise, of sorts. I slip on the shapeless attire after cleaning my face of all makeup. My hair goes in a ponytail, then a loose bun, which is tucked beneath the cap. When I look in the mirror, I see an unremarkable person. No shapely figure. Nothing specifically feminine.

_ "Perfect."_

My wallet (with school ID), keys, and penknife go into one of the massive pockets of the jeans.

I still have one thing left to do.

With resignation, I pick up the phone. Each number dialed feels like a stab to my stomach. I wait as the tone shrilled. The other line is answered with a chipper _"Heya!"_ I opened my mouth, throat dry. "Uh…hi. Yeah, Coleen? It's Eveline…Theard. Listen, sorry to bother you but…I need your help. It's about the ABCs."

**-XXX-**

**Agh, this took too long.**

**I have the next chapter done-ish, but this week is midterms….an update may take awhile.**

**Also, it's been a while since I've seen the film, and the barricade scenes are especially fuzzy for me. So I apologize if anything is too off – such as sequence of events, or what kind of gun Enjolras was using. **

**The support has been fantastic, thank you! **


	9. Never Say Die

**IX Never Say Die**

**Sorry it's been awhile. Midterms were last week, so now I'm on break. Hopefully I can manage to finish this up within the next week or so, before things start getting busy again. I've already got another story in the works, though its still on storyboard stages. **

**Thank you for all of your lovely words! I hope you enjoy this chapter. We've hit the climax! **

**-XXX-**

When I arrive at 8:15 I am engulfed. Over three hundred students have crowded the front steps and fountain of Clara Thomas, the university's recital hall and auditorium. I nervously tuck my hair further into my hat as I wade through the mass of people, eyes peeled for Leo and any other ABCs. They appear to be scattered throughout the crowd. But I do not see Leo.

Already white vans line the asphalt before the crowd – TV and radio stations. Reporters watch from afar, small spiral pads flipped open and pens at the ready, some already flying across the grey-white lined paper. Several students are being filmed for the ten o'clock news.

Policemen stand back, behind the news people. They lean against their cars, faces shadowed by the brims of their hats. They cannot do anything until we are violent. Campus police might carry us off, but they have yet to arrive. The administration must be scurrying to bring their officers in.

Among the adults I can see professors from all fields, cafeteria and office workers, members of the community. They stare up at us, as we loom from the stairs and fountain.

Clara Thomas is a beautiful building. Built of a butter-colored stone, it is as sweet and gentle as its namesake reportedly was. Five marble columns guard bronze-and-oak doors, on which are depictions of Greek gods of arts and creativity. A three-pool fountain rests before the twenty-seven steps leading up to the doors. It's an impressive set up, with one large oval for a center and two egg-shaped smaller pools. In the center is a woman, dressed in a toga-like drapery, with a winged lion on her right and a stag on her left. I'm not sure of the symbolism. A few Victorian-looking black street lamps are planted in the cobblestone-brick that surrounds the fountain and leads up to the stairs. All in all, it's the most beautiful building on campus.

The story goes that Clara Thomas was the fifth university president's adoptive daughter – the orphan of a cousin, or something, the more vicious rumors leading that she was his illegitimate child, or that of his sister. She was, according to most accounts, as sweet as a summer breeze. Lovely and greatly loved. Kind, gentle, and generally a wonderful person who was adored by the community. She loved music, and was herself a very talented pianist and soprano, among other things. I remember thinking my freshman year, when I first heard the story, that she was practically Snow White.

She went to Europe when she was in her early twenties – defying the standards of the day by not marrying and traveling with only a maid. She traveled everywhere, from London to Zurich to Vienna, Paris, Versailles, Amsterdam and Copenhagen, Prague, Madrid, Florence, Rome, Athens…it was when she reached Instabul she returned. Before she left, however, she decided to go again through her favorite of cities, Paris.

That's is when it hit her. The fever.

No one is entirely sure what is was. Some speculate it was TB, that she'd had it for ages. Other claimed scarlet or yellow fever. Whatever it was, it stopped her in Paris. That's where she eventually died.

The hall was already under construction when she passed. But it was almost instantly decided it would be named for her. Clara Thomas.

The light posts were imported from the street where her hotel sat. The marble from her favorite state. And the interior lobby painted in her favorite shade of violet.

It's a fantastic place for a rally. Dramatic. Historic. Enjolras's choice, I believe.

And speaking of Leopold Enjolras….

I finally spy him. He's easy enough to spot in a brilliant red jacket, with brown-ish jeans and sturdy combat boots. It's an odd combination, but he pulls it off nicely. Standing beside an excited Joe Leigh and sedated Charles, my friend passionately strides the inner ledge of the fountain, just below the woman. All the boys wear trousers that are wet to the calves – they've crossed the pool to stand alone. To stand out.

I slip into the crowd. People converge upon me. No one takes notice of the skinny boy dressed in loose jeans and flannel who dives between people, struggling like a salmon upstream to the centermost fountain. When I reach the low wall forming the first pool, I stop. Twenty or so people stand in the water. Some hold signs, most are shouting. A few ABCs are mingled among them. All members have drawn faces, somewhere between fear and excitement. Their eyes roll over me – we had been instructed to keep a watchful eye on the crowd – but not one spark of recognition registers.

Jami and Philip are a few feet away, clinging to one of the ancient light posts. They're shouting, smiling together as they voice their protests. Below them is an interesting mingle of accounting and art majors, adding their voices to the fold.

Wincing at the thought of wet sneakers, I edge around the fountain until I reach the place where the right oval meets the center pool. I step up onto the elbowed edge. Here I am almost level with Enjolras. I keep my eyes on him, rather than the news vans, or the crowd.

"Why have we gathered?" he asks the crowd, roaring with great gusto.

"EDUCATION," the crowd replies.

"OUR FUTURE!"

"RIGHTS TO LEARN!"

"Yes!" he agrees, throwing a fist into the air. "We will not take this anymore. We will not buckle under the debt of finding out futures. We will not allow them to take away our opportunity. Tell them," Enjolras cries, flinging an arm out, indicating the news people. "Tell them what you want! Tell them you won't see your affordable education squandered for ear marks and pet projects! Tell them that you, the people, will not tolerate this foolish rhetoric and filibustering."

A massive cry of agreement rises from the students. The reporters and cameramen seem to take a breath together, rustling forward, attentive to us. Focus is upon the masses.

Enjolras's eyes sweep over the crowd. I can see nothing but pride blazing in them. When I stumble into the water, wading closer, I see him turn slightly, gaze flickering towards me. But it does not linger.

The water is cold. It licks up my legs as I unsteadily slosh forward, an eager pup wishing to receive affection from its master. The faded sky of my pants turn dark blue. I hate the feeling of cool and wet. The cloth grows heavy, and sticks to my skin.

At the base, I stop, hands hitting the stone, steading myself. Distracted by the chanting, none of the boys see me. I look up at them, a little awed by the powerful figure of Enjolras. His eyes are in heavy shadow, hair mussed by the wind, face impassive – marble. He is as perfect as a statue.

My attention is torn away when the crowd falls to semi-silence at the sound of Dr. Giffard's commanding voice. Cold, even over a bullhorn, he bids us silence.

"You are accomplishing nothing here," he tells us. "Please, return to your residential halls. If you wish to utilize your freedom of speech, write letters to your senators. This is not a matter the school can control. You are doing nothing here."

"NEVER!" someone shouts.

"Please return –"

"Fuck off, Dr. G!" one young man cries from the stairs. There is a murmur of agreement.

Giffard's lips tighten.

"If you do not remove yourselves immediately, we shall be force to remove you," he warns.

"We have free speech!"

"Not on my campus," he says stoutly.

An angry, collective shout protests this.

"Go back to your rooms. There will be no trouble if you leave calmly and peacefully now."

"He can't arrest all of us," Charles murmurs to Enjolras. "Try as he might, there is no way he can get over three hundred names. He is bluffing." One hand rests on Leo's shoulder.

"I know," Enjolras replies quietly. "But that still doesn't make us safe." His hands, hidden from direct view by his red hoodie, clench.

"What can we do?" Joe Leigh.

"Stand our ground. Until they decide to take action." Leo's lips tighten. "I want people moved out when the cops and campus police start going down. I want most of us –" I know without a doubt that the "_us" _he refers to is the ABCs. "—out too, mingled in. We have leave a few behind, to direct attention and continue the stand."

"They will all stay," Charles says automatically, in a low voice.

Leo frowns. "Why? Why sacrifice more?"

Around us, the chanting and cries continue. I can see officers approach, a few collecting near Giffard. He's moving his hands vicariously, a mad scowl upon his severe features. The police shift closer. The volume of our protesters increase. But it is as if we are in a bubble, all of our focus centered on this concave.

"Because no one will go away, Leopold."

There is silence between the boys for a long moment. Then Enjolras straightens, looking forward. "Very well. They are….they are too good."

Just then, the invisible barrier between media, police, and students burst. A mad shout echoes through the crowd, everyone surging forward. I can see a line of blue-clad men heading straight for us, one pointing to the fountain ledge where Charles, Joe Leigh, and Leo stand.

Eyes ablaze, Enjolras crouches. There is such a look of ferocity upon his face that I nearly recoil.

Joe Leigh shudders. "Enjolras. We've got to go. You can't be here."

Leo rounds on him. "_What?" _he hisses. "I can't just leave! We're here! In the cause! I am not abandoning –"

"No, he's right," urges Charles. "If we get caught and brought in, that's nothing. But you're our leader, and our link to the other campuses. Without you, there is no cause. If we loose you, Enjolras, then this university is out of the conversation, and it's one more red 'x' on the map for places that support the reforms. You've got to go."

Leo is stunned. He stares, aghast, between his friends.

I don't know what compels me, but from the base of the statue, I pipe up.

"I know a way into Clara Thomas," I blurt. "I can get you in, then out the back, discreetly enough to where you won't be spotted or caught or anything."

Three pairs of eyes turn on me, varying degrees of surprise in their expression. Enjolras's is pure ice, scarily crystalline.

"Sorry," I add as an afterthought. "I just heard you talking and….Listen, I just want to help."

"Who are you?" Enjolras demands.

"J-john Leoux," I squeak. Despite the un-masculine timbre of my voice, he doesn't question my sex. I thank the heavens above for the excess of shadow that allows me to hide my distinctly feminine facial features."I'm a music major, I know every inch of that performance hall."

"It's our best shot, Leo," Charles insists, placing a hand on his friend's arm. "Go. I'll call you if you're followed in. Hurry."

It is more than clear that Enjolras is suspicious, but he jumps into the water nonetheless, followed by Joe Leigh. The cold liquid splashes loudly, a good deal of it hitting my face and chest. I blink uselessly.

"Carry on," he invites, eyes dark. "I warn you, if you're misleading us in anyway…I will not hesitate in displaying my disappointment."

It's an eloquent threat. The tone is enough to assure me that his disappointment will be displayed through apply bodily harm upon my person. I shiver at the thought. Once again, I reflect on my gratefulness towards the lack of lighting.

Through the sea of protestors we run – me, ducking through, leading the way, Joe Leigh behind me, then Leo taking up the rear. It's a treacherous flight, stumbling through the hoards. Every inch of me is jabbed, poked, or molested in some manner – usually as a result of an accident, though, not always. I fear that the tugging of my baggy clothes might reveal my true shape, however, neither Joe or Leopold seem to be focused enough to take notice.

The walk, which normally would've taken perhaps three minutes, quickly turns to five, seven, ten, as we get lost in the crowd. It's like fighting the tide. Swimming upstream. We're receiving a real beating.

Somewhere halfway up the godforsaken stairs of Clara Thomas, I am bowled over, stumbling. I hit the marble with a cry, which is faint in contrast to the chanting of our fellows. Joe Leigh lunges for me. He manages to seize my wrists. Even so, my neck snaps backwards, hat toppling to be forever lost in the mass of people. My hair tumbles free.

Enjolras has reached us now. He moves in a flash to aid Joe Leigh. As soon as Joe sees my hair he releases my wrists, allowing me to fall against a shocked Enjolras. But that shock soon turns. Infuriated, he holds me at elbow's length.

"What are you doing here?" he hisses. "I told you to stay back!"

Breathless, I shake my head. "You're stupid if you thought for one second that I was going to stay behind."

"Eveline, this is dangerous." He nears, forehead pressing against mine. "Please, go."

"No!" I snap. "Someone has to get you into Clara Thomas. Besides, I can't leave you. We're in this together. Start to finish," I meet his eyes, desperately trying to impart this to him. "I'm your pulse, remember?"

Despite the tense nature of our situation, he somehow manages to smile. I reach up to stroke the messy blonde curls, damp with rain.

"We need to go," Joe Leigh urges.

I take Enjolras by the hand. Automatically, I wince. Marble is unforgiving. Pushing past others is not helping, either. I can feel the bruises blooming. Soon, I am practically limping at a run. Enjolras notes my pain. He makes to scoop me up.

"No, no, it'll catch their notice," I stutter quickly. "I'll be fine."

He looks doubtful, but we haven't the time. We move. I navigate us to the side door, tucked behind the furthest left column. As promised, it is unlocked – just as it is every evening, for symphony practice, according to Coleen. We rush inside, careening through the lobby towards the auditorium.

"Is this really the best place –" Joe Leigh begins, but I silence him with a rough gesture.

"The stage is dark," I say. "And backstage is darker, filled with furniture and things. It will be easy to hide. Besides, there is a door in the back shop area. Once we're clear we can get out without a problem. C'mon."

Silent, they follow. Enjolras looks stricken, dread coloring his every feature. I squeeze his hand. Together, we pass through the leftmost aisle. A sea of rows surround us, a line of red-velvet upholstered chairs breaking through the darkness as we surge forward. I let my free hand drift just above the seatbacks, closing my eyes for just a brief moment. I've always liked theaters.

Somehow, I navigate us through to the stage. A sharp turn left and we're facing the stairs – or, at least, where I am pretty sure stairs are located, as the area is covered by a lip of wall, casting deep shadow. I reach out to touch the wall, briefly dropping Leo's hand. He quickly finds my waist, however, I feel his heat against my back as he nears. "Don't stray," he requests softly. I nod, forgetting that he cannot see. Again I take up his hand. We go.

I manage to find a door. We're in the backstage area. Thick black curtains of the midstage traveller hit me in the face. I back up, straight into my fellows.

"Sorry," I whisper. "Curtains. Let me get my cellphone…."

The faint blueish light is just enough to help us navigate through the backstage. We walk around for a few minutes, searching. I go, on my own, to the shop to find the door. Once we're together again, I tell them, quickly, the path out. Until then, we're going to hide. Neither particularly relish the idea, but it's the best we can do. We don't know if anyone is waiting outside for us.

"Charles said he would call," Joe Leigh explains in a low voice. "When they start to enter Clara Thomas."

"We'll wait until then, I suppose," Enjolras say. He bows his head. "I hate running. I should be out there."

"No one else has a much to fear as you. You're important," Joe Leigh protests. "Giffard has singled you out. He wants your ass fried. If he can get you tonight, here, it's game over. But if he can't catch you before the news stations release their 10 p.m. beat, there is nothing he can do. We'll have won."

I lean against Leo. "He's right. You've got to hang low until it makes the news. And it will. If he gets you before then, he'll make you stand before all of us and apologize. You'll be expelled. You'll be his symbol that he's got everything under control and defeated the protestors. You're our symbol, Enjolras, our leader. If he gets you tonight, it's over. But if we end up on the news successful he cannot touch us. Cannot touch you. Our message will be out, our leader will stand, and the ball will be in motion."

He sighs. Looks at me. Cups my face. "I'm no one's symbol. I'm just trying to make some change."

I kiss him on the cheek. "Like it or not ,you're our poster boy. So let's play it safe and stay here."

"I'll stay," he concedes, hands sliding to my waist. "But you go, Eveline. You'd be in just as much trouble as me, if we're caught. You'll be expelled. I can't let you –"

"I knew what I was getting into," I say fiercely. "I knew at the first meeting, I've known it for a long time, and I am not leaving."

"Eveline," Enjolras starts, a commanding tone entering his voice. There is a strained note, though, a slight catch. "Please, you mustn't. Go. Just…go, now. Please."

" I am not leaving you."

He touches my cheek. "Evie."

I bite my lip.

He tries again. "Evie, please."

"No." I kiss him again.

Joe Leigh, feeling awkward to be present at such an intimate moment, shuffles his feet. I back away from Leo, feeling my face heat while my heard beats with a wild joy. "Sorry."

It's then that we hear a buzz. A very distinct sound – like a cell vibrating. Joe Leigh scrambles to withdraw it from his coat pocket. We freeze as he clicks the call button.

"Charles?" he demands. We wait as Charles replies. I cannot make out exact words, but I can definitely hear panic. Enjolras and I exchange a glance.

"Okay, okay," Joe says sharply. "Thanks. Hey, man, get out of there. Lay low." He turns back to us. "They're coming. We should probably start hiding."

Against the right wall is a large sort of box thing with sliding doors. A kind of piano case which houses the university's performance pianos, it's not more than four and half feet tall. I direct Enjolras there, sliding the door shut, then huddle behind a row of stacked chairs. Joe Leigh slips into a nearby wardrobe, leaving the door open a crack. We wait.

Several minutes pass before we hear the doors open. There is a low murmur and series of crackles – radios, perhaps. From a gap between seats, I can look out upon the rows of seats. A ray of light flashes by, blinding me briefly. I hear someone say "None between the seats, Captain."

"Check the costume and prop rooms," a command voice instructs. "They should be over there. And Johnson, Sanjay, Lewis, search the backstage area. Giffard says there is a door back there. Check of signs of exit."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the sliding door of the piano case crack just an inch. A single blue eye peeks out. It opens just an inch more. Enjolras mouths to me – _"Okay?"_

I nod, silent.

His gaze moves to the opposite side of the stage. "Evie…"

"Shut up!" I breathe. "Get back in there."

He gives me a long look, expression painful. I simply stare back.

I shrink against the wall, holding my breath. Footsteps hit the stage, brisk and solid. They light passes over me again. I can see a sliver of Joe Leigh's face. His eyes are wide. As the footsteps near, I shut my eyes. _"Don't let them find us, don't let them find us…." _

The most of the footsteps fade. The officers are probably in the shop now. From my hiding spot, I can see one officer along the pull lines opposite of us, inspecting each nook and cranny with his flashlight. I don't relax. Not even a little.

Soon enough, they others are back. Coming close. Too close.

"Over here, Johnson."

A beam skirts the piano case. One of the policemen examines things on back wall, the one adjacent to the case and the row of chairs, where Joe's wardrobe sits. The other two are looking at the top of the piano case where chairs and stage boxes are piled. One notes the door. "Hey, Sanjay."

I see a hand reaching. And before I even have time to think, I'm standing, pushing over the stacks of chairs. It's quite lucky, really, the way the angle worked out. The officers topple. From off stage, in the pitch-black auditorium, comes shouting. Lights flash. And soon, I'm cornered, with five officers surrounding me. Their guns are, thankfully, holstered, as Giffard was kind enough to speculate that we would be unarmed.

As soon as the chairs fell, I had started crying. Now I'm sobbing to the officers, "They left me…they left me here."

One radios into their leader before stooping down to my level. "What?"

I begin to babble some story about being grabbed by a pair of guys – acquaintances, one with dark hair, who was short, another lanky redhead (Joe Leigh is of average height with sandy brown hair, and Enjolras is about the same size with blonde curls) – from the protests and dragged inside. Once they heard the cops entering, they ditched me and ran out the back. Terrified of being caught on breaking and entering, I hid.

They ask a lot of questions. I stumble through, trying to be as concise and convincing as possible. Ultimately, it's determined that I am a victim of what might've turned in assault, and that it's lucky they, the officers, were there. A few officers are sent out to find the ruffians I encountered. I prattle through a few exhausted thanks.

"No problem, honey," the officer named Johnson says. "We're just happy to help someone today. It's crazy out there – got a few wackos in the crowd."

"In the protest?" I ask, dragging my sleeve along the corner of my eye.

"Yeah," a younger cop says. "Your president has a looking out for this guy, Leopold Enjolras, for example, but it seems like non of the crazies know him or associated with 'im. We got a few weird ones out there, though. You know Mickey Paulozo?'

I shake my head.

"Well thank your lucky stars for that," he murmurs.

"You seem like a good kid," Johnson tells me. "Too nice to be mixed up in this mess."

I shrug. "My friend Keshia texted me and said it was super wild down here." I'm doing my best to sound like the typical college girl – or, at least, what these guys will expect out of a co-ed. "So I came to check it out. I didn't mean to get, like, in anything."

"Hey, no harm done. Now let's get you out of here."

**-XXX-**

**Whatcha think? Reviews are greatly appreciated. **


	10. Fall Within Flame

**X Fall Within Flame**

**I am so far behind on responding to reviews! So, I decided to update early - which is appropriate, considering how long you waited for chapter nine. Midterms, oy vey. **

**Do I have any Star War fans here? **

**Enjoy!**

**-XXX-**

I hope and pray they find a way out. There is no guarantee my sacrifice will save them. Thankfully, Charles and Leo were kind enough to stay hidden – I had worried that Enjolras would decide to play hero and burst out from the piano case, blazing, determined to get us out, or die trying.

Of course, I couldn't let him do this.

Despite my story, Giffard insists that I be "taken in," though the officers argue with him.

"She's done nothing wrong here," Sanjay argues on my behalf. We're standing beside the columned front steps of Clara Thomas, watching the remainders of the crowd disperse.

The dark has truly set in now. All the figures beyond us are mere shadows, their voices echoes. It's cold; a drizzle has moved in, and with it, a breeze. In my damp clothes, I'm freezing. However, all men are oblivious to this. They're too busy conferring.

"She was found breaking and entering and possibly in the company of the leaders of this protest!" Giffard gestures firmly toward the fountains. "What other cause could there be for questioning?"

"We can't –'

Giffard interrupts Officer Sanjay. "You can, and you will! I demand that she be questioned. I used to be on the force, I know how things work."

"Sir, we've already questioned her," Johnson replies, giving me a sideways glance. "She was a victim – unwillingly pulled into the theater by a pair of goons that in no way resemble the leaders of your little campus rebellion. Now, we cannot charge her, arrest her, or take her in for any kind of questioning. But if you wish to launch a campus inquiry, perhaps with your board of governors, or some other committee, you are more than free to do so."

There is a pause. President Giffard rounds on me, seemingly sizing me up.

"Very well," he says brusquely. "Eveline Theard. Tomorrow, at eight a.m. sharp, I expect you to appear before the board of governors for a formal hearing inquiring after your involvement in the protests and the organization Friends of the ABC. If you fail to arrive, or fail to fully answer any and all questions, we will regard this as an admission of guilt, which is grounds for expulsion. Is that clear?"

I nod, swallowing. "Yessir." I don't give him the pleasure of seeing me downtrodden, thought. With a locked jaw, I stare Giffard in the eye, unyielding in my gaze. After several seconds, he breaks off the uncomfortable contact. He turns on his head and departs, taking the steps at a brisk pace. We watch.

Sanjay turns to me. "You okay?"

I blink, folding my arms closer to myself. "Yeah. Yeah, I am, thanks."

"He's kind of a jackass," Johnson says bluntly. "I knew a guy or two who used to be on the force with him. He's a bulldog, they say, I swear, never lets anything go. Not until he's killed it. You know?"

"Yeah. That's the perfect way of describing it," I reply darkly, thinking of Dr. Valerius and his troubles with our president.

Finally I am excused. They offer me an escort to my dorm, but I politely decline – as if tonight's events haven't been embarrassing enough, a pair of cops leading me to my room would be downright scandalous. I thank them profusely, then sludge off through the light rain towards my residential hall. Leo is on my mind all the while, but fails to make an appearance. I wonder if he and Joe Leigh have managed to find a way out yet. Or perhaps he's staying away on purpose.

I take the back stairwell. Thankfully, I meet no one on my trek upstairs. Not a soul lounges in our hall (which is a rarity). Heavy limbs guide me through opening the door, sliding off my semi-wet, overly-large disguise, then into bed. I skip a shower, or even washing my face. I'm simply too tired to put forth the effort. My alarm set for seven, I nestled into my bed, pull the duvet up to my chin, and sleep. If I lay awake and think about it too much, thoughts of Enjolras and Giffard will haunt my dreams, or make me cry, or something else terrible.

**-XXX-**

The next morning at 7:45 I arrive outside of the conference room that is set just beside the presidents office. In a pressed skirt and modest white blouse, my hair immaculate and held back by a barrette, light makeup and sensible shoes, I'm attempting to appear as innocent and responsible as ever – which really shouldn't be that hard, considering I truly am a responsible person, and, all things considered, I am _fairly _innocent.

The governors shuffle in around 7:55. A few give me curious glances, others stern appraisals, some impartial glances or impassive grunts. I sit on the cold wooden bench quietly. At 8:05, Giffard appears, stalking down the corridor with a scowl and a Styrofoam cup of coffee. He follows the others through the oak double doors. I'd learned through listening to the murmurs of a pair of governors, that he had personally called each and every one somewhere between eleven and twelve last night, requesting their presences for an emergency hearing.

At 8:10, another person joins me in the hall: Marcus.

He shuffles in, wearing dark dress trousers, a turquoise button-down with a silver tie. The shirt brings out his eyes. His short hair has been meticulously jelled and styled. His eyes crinkle in a sheepish smile when he sees me. I can barely smile back.

I wonder why he's here. Surely he wasn't caught as well. The ABCs must have cleared the area first – Enjolras gave the order. I wish to ask, but, unsure of where we stand, I hesitate.

We don't have anytime for conversation, for soon the door is opened.

"Mr. Poncy," booms Giffard. He looms. "You will go first."

"Okay," he agrees readily, as though he had any kind of option. He follows Giffard inside, casting me a nervous glance.

Fifteen minutes pass before Marcus leaves the conference room. I pass this time staring at my shoes, mentally rehearsing my story. My head aches.

Marcus exits, backing out from the room. He's nearly white, but relief floods him the further he removes himself from governors, all limbs relaxing. When he shuts the doors, he looks down at me. I watch, impassive, as he takes a moment to collect himself.

"Good luck," he offers before he flees.

"Thanks," I call softly after.

Soon, I am summoned. I enter silently. A dozen pairs of eyes greet me. Giffard shuts the door with a snap, then takes his place at the head of the table. I am invited to sit. I do so, folding my hands in my lap. There is a rustle of papers before they begin. Giffard starts, by reviewing the event. First, our president presents the flyers and emails sent out by the ABC. He gives the approximate time of last night's gathering, followed by the estimated number of students participating. From there he describes calling the local police, targeting those he believed to be leaders.

"When we started closing in on the crowd, we noticed select students fleeing. Several went into Clara Thomas. I directed a group of officers inside. They recovered Ms. Theard, here." He nods to indicate me. "Alone. Though, we originally believed there to be three people inside."

"And no one else was found?" asks one greying governor.

"No. She was questioned, and seemed to think they escaped." Giffard pauses, looking to me. "You may give your testament."

I straighten. All eyes turn to me again.

"Yesterday I went down to the protests," I begin, my voice in an almost unnaturally high pitch. "It was blowing up my newsfeed, you see, and all of my friends were telling me to check it out. Stupid reason, I know, but I mean…it was crazy. So, I went. Just to see, I guess." Here I struggle, trying to give the impression of someone who is reliving a nightmare. "When the cops starting coming down on everyone, these guys I know told me they were getting out. I didn't know they were going through Clara Thomas. I just…followed them."

"Who were these young men?" one smartly-dressed woman with frosted grey hair.

"I don't know them very well, ma'am," I answer respectfully. "We have met at a few parties, only a couple of times. I only know them as Nate and Russ. Honestly, I can't even say if they go here. But they were at the protests. They said they could get me out. I d-didn't want to get in any trouble, you see.

I thought they were just going to go out the back, or something. But…instead, they lingered. And Russ started – he started –" I shudder. "Coming on to me. I told him to shove off, and refused to…do anything. And he got mad. So they left me. I was in the dark, and I've never been in Clara Thomas before, so I got lost and then the cops came in. I was terrified. I thought that if was caught I'd be arrested or something. When the officers found me on the stage I was so nervous I pushed the chairs over accidentally while I was trying to hide against them."

"Why did you hide? Why didn't you reveal yourself?" demands a squat, balding man, who pushes up square spectacles to better see me.

"I was scared, sir. I was terrified. You will find, however, that I willingly surrendered, and answered all of their questions."

He sniffs. Giffard smiles slightly.

"So, you claim no association to this group…the protesters, Friends of the ABCs?"

"No, sir. I do not know of them. I could not tell you who they are or what precisely they stand for."

"And you contend that you went to the demonstration last night solely to 'check things out' and for no other reason?"

I do not hesitate. "Yes."

The questions appear to be done. There is a hearty pause. A few of the governors exchange glances. Giffard rises slowly. "You may wait outside," he commands. "This should take no time."

It takes twenty-five minutes. Again, I stare at my feet, shuffling them awkwardly. They hadn't sent Marcus outside. _"Why was he treated so lightly? What he witnessing against me? Or was he simply shorter in his defense?" _I bite my lip. If they do not find me innocent… I'll be expelled. Lose my scholarships. I will have to move back with Alice and Caleb. She can scarcely support our little brother and herself. I'll get a job and go to community college and sleep on the couch and – and –

The door opens. Giffard appears. He gestures this time. I enter once again, holding my breath. When our president sits, a few of the governors shift forward. Giffard stares at the oak table, shifting papers, brow furrowed. Finally, he sits up.

"Eveline Theard," he begins solemnly. "We have reviewed your testimony, and found you without cause or harm in the demonstration last night. We apologize for your trouble, and hope your will report any infractions upon your person to campus security. Characters of that nature should not be allowed to prey upon our university's young women. If you have any further details, or if you perhaps, recall something you had not previously, something that might be of use to this committee, please do not hesitate in contacting myself or my office. In the future, I might avoid maintaining friendships with such unsavory characters, and avoid potentially trespassing upon university property, Ms. Theard. We shall not be so lenient should a second breach come to our attention. Do you have any questions?"

"No," I breathe. "Thank you. Thank you very much."

"You are excused," he tells me curtly. "We have further business to discuss here."

I do not need to be told twice. I all but fly from the conference room.

On my walk back from the administration building to my dorm, I half expect to meet Enjolras. Part of me hopes he'll be waiting for me outside, ready to share in my relief. But these hopes are dashed – he's neither hiding behind the trees, nor waiting by my door. I swallow back disappointment as I slide the key into the lock.

_"The sad thing is," _I realize. _"that I have no one else to expect. No other friends I would want or anticipate. No one to tell…except…." _

I'd had friends, once. But they had graduated, or were remainders from high school who choose different universities, or simply didn't go to school at all. Here, I'd thrown myself into my studies, not taking the time to truly make many friends. Acquaintances, sure. Casual, in-class buddies with whom I might trade notes, or study with, I find all the time. But people to get coffee with? Someone to grab dinner with me on a busy Sunday night? A pal, with whom I have movie nights?

Not really. I've never had that here. And Enjolras doesn't quite fit that role. But he was – is? – close.

The closest people in my life are a few towns away – my sister, Alice, and my brother, Caleb. But I dare not scare them with the thought of my expulsion. Alice would scold me, anyway, horrified by the thought that I would so willing risk my scholarships, and indeed, my place in this school, by joining such an organization. She'd be right to fuss, anyways. I can't tell them. I can share my relief with no one.

It's an easy decision to decide to skip classes for the day. Though I went to bed relatively early, I feel very, very weary. Down-to-the-bone tired. Without much internal persuasion, I remove my stuffy clothes to change into pajamas. My bed beckons, and I greet it with something like bitter happiness. I'd much rather be talking about the protest over coffee with Enjolras.

Unfortunately, that's not an option. At least, not tonight.

**-XXX-**

**Hm. No shows on the ABCs...weird?**

**Whatcha think? **


	11. I Am Reaching

**XI I Am Reaching**

**Ahhhhh. Break is over. My life is back to spinning….**

**Hope you enjoyed the last chapter! Didn't get a lot of feedback, but that won't stop me from posting. **

**-XXX-**

The weekend passes, long and quiet. I don't leave my dorm the entire time. Not even for food; the takeout boy comes by twice, but for the most part I live on dry cereal, Ramen, peanut butter, and canned soup. Normally I'd be very bored with this, however, I'm too preoccupied with my own thoughts to truly notice. I work on some homework. But mostly, I sleep.

Enjolras does not contact me. No one from the ABCs does. I skip classes Monday, but then wake Tuesday early enough to convince myself to go to Valerius's class. It's quite early, and I am stiff, lazy, so I wear a sort of casual hoodie-wrap thing and jeans, no make up, my hair in a messy bun. I slink in late (for me, anyways, five minutes before class starts), choosing to take a seat in the back of the room. Most of the class is already here, so I go relatively unnoticed.

In the front row sits Enjolras. His head is bowed, and he sits hunched. The desk beside him – the one I usually inhabit – is empty. I am happy to see him hale and whole. My throat dries upon the sight of him, however, I cannot bring myself to move to the front. I'm not really sure how to react at all, actually.

Valerius sweeps in, as usual, though, this time it's with less bounce in his step. The lesson is conducted in its typical manner, though, he's a little sharper than usual. I sense a sour mood. When the class struggles in answering a question regarding the ethics of Wilde's "Lord Arthur Savile's Crime," I take mercy on our frustrated professor and reply.

"Very good," he praises shortly.

Enjolras doesn't look back. I bite my lip and sink further down in my seat.

Class wraps up a little early. After Valerius finishes scribbling down the reminder of our readings, he dusts the chalk off his hands, calling back, "Ms. Eveline, would you stay after for a moment? I have something I need to discuss with you."

I freeze. Most of the class ignores this, but in the front row, Enjolras whips 'round. When he sees me, his eyes go wide. When the rest of the students shuffle out, I hang back, hesitant to go forward, where both Valerius and Leo are waiting. It takes a bit of force, but I do manage to wade through the aisles of desks. Valerius casts Leo a hard glance, but then pointedly turns to me.

"I thought I would tell you, Ms. Theard," he begins softly. "Congratulations on winning your arraignment. I am very please Giffard did not get his way for once."

"Ah, thank you." I am surprised. I was not aware that it was known outside of the administration.

"I also wanted you to know that I testified, on your behalf," he adds, tone a little lighter. "To the governors, over conference call. I was in Denver, that weekend, you see." He's apologetic. "Big interview there."

"Thank you," I say again, with even more sincerity. "Interview?"

"Yes." Jon Valerius smiles. "It seems Giffard has succeeded in convincing me to resign. I'm leaving at the end of term."

"Oh, no," I protest. "Sir, no, you're one of the best we've got. Don't let him bully you!"

He sighs. "Thank you. That means a lot. But he's right – it is my time to go. But don't fear. I've been accepted on at the Greenleigh College –" It's the nearest community college, in the same city where Alice works and Caleb goes to school. "—and Coleen shall be attending the art school there as well. I think we shall be quite happy."

It's still a depressing thought. I venture one last inquiry.

"Can you tell me, sir, why he's pushing you out? What he's threatened you with?"

Hesitation.

"You don't have to," I say quickly. "I was just wondering…."

"No, no, it's fine," he assures me. "It's nothing I am proud of, you see. When I was a young man, working in a department store, I…overlooked, let's say, a few accounts, and pocketed the excess. It was not my own greed that drove me – at the time, my sister was deeply in debt, and my own paycheck couldn't support her enough. I was caught, and charged. Incidentally, Giffard was working in the court house I was prosecuted at the time…." He winces.

"But I was lucky – I was given a second chance. An intership, then I went to college, earned my degree. By then, the Jon Valerius who embezzled was all but forgotten. The world had moved on. But…"

"When I was young, untenured, working on the East Coast, there were a few grades I, ah…altered." His lips quirk. With practiced ease, my professor begins to collect the scatter of papers that lay strewn across the table, slipping them into his worn messanger bag without order.

"It was difficult for me to accept that certain students were unable to pass my courses when I knew them to be perfectly competent. They simply could not handle tests…so, I helped them along a bit. The school required three tests a semester. But some of my brightest were not testers. They would have failed. It seemed harmless. Well, perhaps not…I knew what I was doing. But the ethics of tweaking a few grades in comparison to students failing while I simply stood by and watched, well, that was a hard pill to swallow."

Valerius shakes his head. "It's haunted me for years. I was excused by that campus's administration. It's off my record. But Giffard some how dug it up. The man is a blood hound." This is said with a degree of true admiration. As much as Jon Valerius must surely loathe our president for his recent displacement, the professor holds some feelings of respect towards him. "He has never trusted me. And he never will. It's made doing my job…difficult, at best." He smiles. "I hate to go, truly. But I cannot work somewhere I am not trusted."

"I understand. I'm sad to see you leave."

"Thank you," he says, offering a hand. I give him a firm handshake, smiling with as much sincerity as I can muster. "I'll miss seeing you in class. If you're ever in the area of Greenleigh, feel free to give us a call. Coleen and I would love to see you."

"I will definitely do that," I assure him.

Excused, I sling my backpack on. Leo, who has been hanging back, follows me.

We walk in silence until we're outside. It's a nice day. I close my eyes briefly, absorbing the sunlight. Enjolras levels with me, matching my pace.

"Eveline," he says softly, catching my hand. "Eveline, where have you been?"

I blink. "Me?"

We're in the middle of the brick walkway between the English/Language building and administration department. I glance around nervously. People pass us, casting curious glances. Worried, I pull us away from others' eyes, moving towards a secluded section of the quad. Enjolras follows, questions flying left and right, barely stopping with enough time for me to properly answer.

"What arraignment was he referring to?"

"I had a hearing with the board of governors and Giffard."

"And they released you?" Leo demands.

"Yes, well –"

"You weren't arrested?"

"No. They questioned me, but I was cleared."

"Why didn't you call me?"

I round on him. "Why didn't you call _me?" _I sit on the ground, crossing my legs Indian-style, folding my arms. "It's been three days. And no one – not a single person – checked on my. No calls, no emails, no texts, smoke signals, nothing! I'd be offended if I wasn't so grateful for the peace."

"We've been a little busy." He winces upon seeing the dangerous flicker of offense in my eyes. "It was Marcus. He was caught too –"

"I know. He was at my hearing."

"Yes. Well, we had to arrange things with him, and get members off campus for a few days. Just until the buzz died down. Marcus was lucky though." Here Leo rolls his eyes. "His parents called the governors. He got off completely clean. No questions asked."

It makes me angry to know Marcus faced no consequences, not even a full questioning. But I've been fortunate, so I hold my tongue.

"And you?" I ask softly, looking down at the grass. I stroke a patch of clovers, keeping an eye out for lucky ones. A little good fortune right now wouldn't go amiss.

He kneels beside me, catching my hand and pressing it to his lips. I close my eyes. I can't deal with this. I can't breath. He's reaching, though, taking my arm, pulling me closer, tucking my head to his chest. Soon I feel his shirt growing damp. I quickly realize it's a result of my tears. My shoulders heave.

"I'm sorry," he whispers into my hair. "I'm sorry, Evie. I didn't mean to leave you here. But I was scared you would be angry with me for letting you take the fall, for not coming to your defense."

"Oh, Leo, I told you to let me," I say, sitting back. "I told you…."

"I know. But even so…I thought you would surely resent me." He smiles. "Of course, you must equally loath me for leaving you alone for so long. It was difficult. I was in New York, you see."

"What?" I cry. "New York?"

"Yeah. For a few interviews, along with the other leaders from across the state." Excitement rises in his voice. "We did it, Eveline. They pick up the story on several networks. We got enough of a pull that a group of us has been invited to speak before congress in two weeks."

"Oh. Oh my God. Leo, that's fantastic!" I pull him in for a hug. He accepts, then pulls back, turning his head so as to press in for a kiss. I smile against his lips. We part grinning.

"I was a little occupied, you see," he explains. "Else I wouldn'tve left you. Not for a second, Evie." Leo is so earnest, eyes begging me to understand. "The first night I thought you would not like to see me. Then, Saturday, we were being interviewed, then invited to the capitol, then we received invitations to New York….It was a whirlwind. Sunday I tried calling you, but your line was busy, then you never called back and…well. I thought then you simply didn't want to talk. So I didn't try again."

I think back to Sunday night. Alice had called. We talked for two hours. He must have called then.

His humble, almost childlike pleas for my forgiveness catches me. My heart swells for him. Clearly, my lack of response has had him worried for sometime. Leo, who has never truly been one for relationships, probably has not had occasion to worry in such a way before. And pleading? _"Our noble leader isn't the type," _I think, biting back a smile. It's not like the marble-like Leopold Enjolras to ask for anyone's forgiveness – hell, he rarely needs it, I'm sure.

"I'm sorry, Evie," he says lowly. "I am so sorry. And I can never truly thank you for what you did. For hiding us, for distracting them…for getting in trouble for us."

I realize I must look a little far-away, looking off into the distance, lost in my musing. With a little shake, I pull myself from my distractions.

"Hey," I reply gently. "I told you. I knew the risk from the beginning. I was dedicated. It needed to be done. So I did it."

Regardless of my reassurances, Enjolras is nervous. I lean against him again, tucking my head into that perfect spot – where the neck and shoulders make a crook. With a happy sigh, he pulls me in, tucking me towards him. We sit together for a few minutes. Then, very, very carefully, Leo pulls back to lean down. With less than two inches between our faces, he stares at me, examining my expression before closing the gap, delicately pressing his lips to mine. He takes my chin, tilting it upwards to deepen the kiss. When I lightly bite his lower lip, Enjolras gasps slightly. It doesn't take him long at all, though, to catch his balance again. Soon, his attentions heat, tugging me closer. I'm so tight against him, it's almost a though he wants us to be molded into one person.

It's lucky we're in a very secluded area. When we finally break, I blush madly.

"Oh, thank God no one saw us," I murmur, crossing my arms.

Enjolras shakes his head. I am again pulled against him. His nuzzles my neck, leaving light kisses. "What?" he asks, mockingly offended. "Are you embarrassed of me? Am I not good enough for your class of people, Ms. Theard? Would I damage your reputation?"

I protest, straining, lightly striking his shoulders. My attempts go unnoticed. Hands migrate to my waist, light fingers teasing, moving down to the hem of my shirt.

"Leo," I hiss.

He blinks, eyes slightly gazes. I look pointedly down at his hands, the fingers of which have taken to skimming the top of my jeans.

"Oh!" He retracts himself. Enjolras looks sheepish, just a little horrified. "Eveline, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to push anything –"

I press a light kiss into his cheek. "You're fine. It's…nice, to see your react so strongly. I wasn't aware of my affect on you."

"Ahhhh," Leo groans. "How can you be? I've had to maintain my appearance of fearless, solid leader. Can't be mooning over some girl," he adds. "People would lose confidence in me."

"'Some girl?'" I tease. "Well, I was more than happy to wait for your mooning, Leopold Enjolras."

It is truly a wonder to see the cold Enjolras being so warm. He's caught my heart with his gentler nature – just as he grabbed my passionate dedication earlier in the semester with his marblelike composure and focus. I think back to my first ABCs meeting, watching him orate with so much strength, an intimidating aura surrounding himself and the entire group of upper-tier ABC members. I'd been so hesitant to speak to him in that setting. But he had been paying attention to me. I can remember his crystal-colored eyes following my motions. Back then, I'd been so alert to Marcus….It strikes me that we are much better suited toward one another than me and Marcus would ever be. _"How funny, we started out with Leo helping me cope through losing Marcus."_

"What are you thinking on?" he asks.

I look up, smiling. "You."

**-XXX-**

** Finally, we get a gleam into the intense dislike between Giffard and Valerius! Someone a while back asked for more insight or scenes with them – hopefully this satisfies. While the story is/was Valjean's, this piece is more Eponine/Enjolras/ABC-focused, and therefore, the main protagonist and antagonist of Les Mis were less important. **

**Hope you've enjoyed. Feedback is gold! **


	12. Nevermore Apart

**XII Nevermore Apart**

**I am so sorry this took so long. My life has been a little hectic. I started a new class last week, and this week I have a paper due, besides the fact that I'm leaving for the holidays early, therefore I need to finish all of my assignments a few days in advance. **

**It's my punishment for taking 17 credit hours. **

**-XXX-**

Thursday night finds me nervously awaiting company in the Muse, sipping coffee neurotically, glancing at the door every five seconds. I thought I'd been prepared for this, yet my lungs seem to be attempting to crawl up my throat. I'm jumpy.

_"No big deal," _I tell myself soothingly. _"It's just dinner…just dinner…you'll talk, get everything out in the open then leave….then leave, and go home, and…probably cry in the shower." _The thought makes me wince, but it's a likely prediction of what will occur after this meeting. Even son. _"You. Can. Do. This."_

The little brass bell over the door to the restaurant clinks. I start, gaze flickering towards the front. The Muse's newest patron wanders through the spread of tables, steadily searching through the booths. I lift my hand to wave. Blue eyes alight on me. I lower my hand, embarrassed. With the greatest of grace, they weave their way to me.

Coleen slips into the booth, smiling brightly. "Hello, Eveline."

"Hi."

"I'm terribly sorry I'm late."

"Oh, no," I reassure her. "You're right on time. I was a little early."

"Oh! Have you ordered?"

"No, not yet."

As though she sensed our need, a waitress appears, notepad and pen at the ready. We place our orders – a burger and fries for me, a salad for Coleen – then sit awkwardly in semi-silence. Our pathetic attempts at small talk take a few tries before we manage to settle into some kind of conversation. Our primary topic? The rally, the protests. Of course.

"You guys were really great," she enthuses, as though she had never been a part of it. Though, truly, she hadn't. Perhaps Coleen had joined at the start, perhaps she had even passionately believed in the cause. But she'd not come to a single meeting, as far as I knew, was altogether absent to every project and event, and dropped out from her sole task (the graphics). I tend to suspect she's only displayed interest for Marcus's sake.

I accept the compliment. "Thank you. It's mostly thanks to Enjolras's planning."

"Leo? Yeah, I saw him on TV!"

I hadn't, so we talk about that for a few minutes. Our food arrives. We pick through for a bit before turning back to conversation.

"Your dad told me. About your…moving thing. That's got to be rough. Being away from Marcus and all."

Coleen sighs, cornflower-colored eyes saddening. "Yeah. I mean, we really like it here. It's by far the longest we've ever stayed some place. Greenleigh is only an hour or so away, though, so it isn't too terrible. You know what they say, anyways: Distances makes the heart grow fonder!"

"Right. Well, it's great you're staying positive…."

"Exactly!" She straightens, perky smile once again taking over her features. But she sighs again. "It will be a fresh start. Just what we all need."

She's right – we could all use a fresh start. Somehow.

I concentrated on my burger, swiping a few fries through the blob of ketchup before downing them, followed by a hearty sip of coke. Coleen nibbles delicately. Eventually, I turn the conversation back to our issues.

"Marcus probably told you how upset I was that you backed out…and…I know we've never exactly been on good terms. That's mostly my fault. We came here with a past, and I never made any effort to apologize or reconnect with you. And I thought your would probably hold it against me. Then you started seeing Marcus…" I drift off, letting the implication hang within the air. Then, I pick myself up again. "I've been unfair to you. I just wanted to apologize. You didn't deserve any mean feeling from me."

At the end of my small speech, Coleen's bright blue eyes are watering. She grabs one of the table's paper napkins to dab her eyes.

"Oh, Eveline!" she cries. "I never held what happened when we were kids against you! You were only a child! "

I am relived. "You didn't?"

"Of course not. I actually wanted to try to talk to you, become friends, maybe," she adds shyly. "But I w-was nervous that you'd _hate _me."

We talk for another hour, then part with a hug. I leave with warmer feelings towards a girl I once viewed as an opponent. Though we'd never be BFFs, we can at least be on more level ground. This meeting was a good thing, I'm positive of it.

**-XXX-**

The rows of dull brass box faces greet me with indifference. I run one finger along the beveled edge of the nearest box as a wander further down the line, lazily dragging the pad until I stop before my number. I spin the dial. The slight _"click_" with the turn of numbers is something that I like hearing, so I linger before finding the correct combination, not feeling any spark of annoyance when my fingers slip. A final, definite, solid sound lets me know that the code has been accepted. The boxface swings open on old hinges (the squeak is enough to make me shudder). I reach into remove the neat stack of white envelops, long and clean and very business-like.

While I trail up the stairs back to my room, I flip through the letters. "_Bank statement. Card report. Advertisement. Credit card offer…." _When I reach the cream-coloured paper, the envelop of a greater quality and thicker material, I stop, nearly dropping the others I've disregarded to my left hand. A beat follows. Then I fly to my room.

A few acquaintances on my offer passing "hellos," but I am far too distracted to return proper replies. My mumbled "heys" aren't really friendly or passable. I fling myself into my door, jiggle the key, then toss the unimportant pieces on mail on my bed.

Wrestling with the letter-opener takes a few minutes. With shaking hands I lightly caress the metallic silver-and-blue seal that sits on the "v" of the envelope's lips. Then I remove the letter.

_"Dear Ms. Theard, we are please to inform you all of your 2012-2013 scholarships, grants, and scholarships have carried over. This is a formal acceptance letter. Please check all you are accepting for the 2013-2014 school year…_

_ …furthermore, note departmental honors…._

_ …we look forward to your spending another academic year with us …_

_ …return this letter by….."_

My hands are shaking. Every single scholarship is listed in full. My grants are unaltered. My loans interest rates are unchanged. Breath shakes my chest, building against my lungs painfully with such excitement.

Somehow, I manage to scramble for my phone. I don't know how I effectively dial Leo on one try.

"Hey," he answers lightly.

"Hi," I reply shortly, breathless. "I got my letter."

"Letter?"

I can practically hear him straighten. "Yeah…Leo, all of my scholarships. Every grant. All of my interest rates. Nothing has been touched."

There is a heavy beat. Then –

"Yes! God, yes!" he hisses. "We did it, Evie!"

We celebrate for a few more minutes. Next year we'll be both in attendance here again. Enjolras will have his own place, off-campus, I'll be in the dorms, and everything will be fantastic. Which, wouldn't have been possible if we hadn't risen together to protest those cuts on grants and federal aid.

"We really made a difference. A legitimate change. They couldn't go against us."

"Yes. And we get to see the fruit of our labors – you're able to come back next year." He sighs with satisfaction. "I cannot even begin to express how happy I am."

I giggle – something I've apparently taken up recently – and shift from where I lay on my bed. "Well, I am happy you're happy."

"I'm happy you're going to be here next year."

"I'm happy that you're happy that I'm still going to be here next year."

Leo chuckles. "You're original, aren't you?"

**-XXX-**

The following day finds us in the library, making the final touches on our project for Selznick's class. I play through the slides on my laptop while Leo studies our notecards. We're second in line for presenting tomorrow. Months of work, studying, late nights in the library, all coming down to this….

Selznick was kind enough to schedule the presentations about two weeks before finals, at least. We're not dealing with too much stress, then.

We've claimed a study room to ourselves, and spend four hours – from three to seven – perfecting our speeches before we break for dinner, to return for another round of prep – this time eight-thirty to eleven.

All the while I'm desperately attempting to not think about my dreams. But I'm practically engulfed with French names. I am breathing nothing but French, so it is, of course, at the front of my mind. Every so often Enjolras will catch my frowning into my computer and will gently shake my from my reverie with a light scold. "Don't think about it, Eveline."

It's been a while since we've discussed our shared dreams. But tonight isn't the night – not when on focus should be on the presentation tomorrow.

When eleven arrives we deem the project to be fair enough and pack up to leave. While trailing down the spiral staircase that centers the library, study room key jangling in my hand, I ask, "Should we get together before class tomorrow, maybe? Go over the slide again? I know we put cues on the notecards, but I still worry –"

"Evie," Enjolras says firmly, eyes amused. "We've done everything possible to prepare. We've cited everything, we've got our speeches memorized plus color-coded notecards. The slides are perfect. Everything, in fact, is perfect. It's going to be fine. We don't need to meet tomorrow."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!" he assures me. "I insist. We both need rest. We've dealt with too much florescent this week."

By now we've approached the desk. I hand the librarian the key, then my card. Once she swipes it we set off.

At the quad we meet the place where our path divides. For a moment we stand, simply together. I lean up to place a very careful kiss upon Leo. He reciprocates, smiling into my lips. I pull back, nuzzling his nose with mine, then straighten the collar of his red jacket, stroking the fabric with the back of my fingers before looking up at him again. There is a wonderful contentedness in his gaze that catches me short. I smile back.

It's so hard to pull away, but we must. He's right, we need sleep.

"See you tomorrow."

"Yes," is all he says before being engulfed by the night.

**-XXX-**

I stand before the class in my green dress, the one with a fitted waist, cap sleeves, and a bell skirt. Nervously palming my notecards, I look to Leo, who appears wonderfully commanding in his dark jeans, red Chucks, crisp white shirt, brown jacket and scarlet tie. He smiles reassuringly.

"You may begin whenever you wish," Selznick tells us. She sits in the back of the room with a clipboard.

"Alright, thank you," I reply, my voice a few pitches higher than usual. Enjolras smirks, then steps forward.

"I am sure all of you are familiar with the French Revolution. It's a rather complicated series of events, with many strikes and many attempts a creating or destroying government. We've selected, and will present to you today, one of those lesser-known circumstances of the July Rebellions of 1832, focusing on a few of the small rebel groups of Paris….."

**-XXX-**

**Finally, some interaction with Coleen! I hope that pleases some of you who were requesting it. **

**Ah, we are so close to the end! Luckily the next chapter is mostly-written…though, with the holidays coming up it might be a bit before it's out.**

**Thank you so much for all the warm, kind words. I assure you, I will answer you all at some point in time. I am very grateful and appreciative towards all of my followers and cannot thank you enough. I'm sorry my updates have been less frequent, but life so easily gets in the way. **

**If you're still hungering for more, I've got a grand total of 74 stories under my belt, in a wide range of categories. Give them a look see if you're interested. **

**Please review!**


	13. A Summer Day Can Kill

**XIII A Summer Day Can Kill **

**This has been a while coming. Sorry about the wait, folks, more car problems, holiday stuff, and catching up on homework has distracted me. **

**-XXX-**

_The first thing I am aware of is the rain. A quiet patter upon my skin lightly striking my clothes. I breathe slowly, inhaling the fresh scent. But there is a sour note I smell too – piss, rot, a smoky smog. I open my eyes. Tall, shabby building surround me, with black street lamps, and small, rustic shop fronts. Beyond the clutter skyline, I can just make out the barest pink of a sunset, contrasting with the iron grey of the storm clouds ahead. _

_ I'm shaken from my observances, however, but the rough call of men. Glancing up, I see a whole crowd of them along an enormous pile of furniture, wood, and an assortment of things, creating a wall of sorts in the middle of the cobblestone road. A barricade. _

_ Every single man holds a gun of some variation. As I near, I see the familiar faces of the cafe. __Courfeyrac, Combeferre, Joly, Bahorel, Feuilly, Prouvaire, Pontmercy, Enjolras…all of them_

_ I gasp. _

_ As I surge forward, frantic, I am given a moment to take pause. In a passing puddle, I catch my reflection. Instead of my shabby dress I am wearing a long tan coat, just as grimy as my usual attire. Instead of a skirt I'm in high-waisted brown trousers, an off-white (what might have been a genuine white at one point in time) button-down shirt of rough material, and a flat man's cap. Worn boots are on my feet. 'Round my neck is a frayed green scarf. I finger it as I examine myself-wide eyed. _

_ "What is this?" I ask myself softly._

_ The rain, however, is quick to mar the image. The sprinkles that had greeted me are turning into fat, heavy drops. _

_ Shouting calls me to the barricades. _

_ As soon as enter the crowd, I am painfully aware of the threat – soldiers, beyond our barricade, are marching near. The group manning our line are ready at their guns. There is a darkness in their eyes and tensity in their posture. As the soldiers near the shouting increases. My fellows rush past me, so hurried that I am shoved and scolded. I can do nothing but stare, however. Gunfire reigns around us. _

_ There is a flash of red in the corner of my eye. I swivel promptly. _"Enjolras!"

_His curls are damp, hanging in his face. He looks sweaty, covered in dirt and grime, jaw tense. He stands with pistols cocked, eyes pure ice as he examines the battalion before him. _

_ Without a thought, I make to go to him. But he starts before I can step a foot forward. I follow his gaze._

_Several of the government soldiers have made it to the top of the barricade, and are precariously balancing on the top, aim bayonets at our boy. I see Marcus lunging at a small cask of gun power with his torch. My heart strains against my chest. _"I'm going to watch my friend die."

_The moment seems to slow. All I can see is Marcius, his expression fierce, standing strong. Enjolras is moving towards him, determined. A glint draws my eye. A gun. A gun, moving toward Marius. The reason of Enjolras's flight. He's saving a friend._

_ I stumble forward, breathless, without a moment of consideration. I don't know what good I'll be, what aid I can offer. My only thought is over Enjolras and the gun and the soldier and – oh -_

_ I fly up the barricade, staggering over the mishmash of wood. Somehow, I manage to reach the top in mere seconds. I'm between the men, the brave Marius and furious Enjolras. Between the men – and the gun. A shot rings out, from Enjolras,, whizzing just inches over the threatening soldier's head. A warning. The barrel of the soldier's gun swings around – aiming at Enjolras. _

"No, no, no, _NO!" _

_In a flash, I am there. Suddenly, the world seems to speed up. The shot rings out, impacting my shoulder, sending me backwards with a cry. I'm flung back to base of the barricades, landing in a heap. I feel the impact reverberating through me. Such pain. I feel utterly faint - if it were not for my will, I would surely pass out. Though it hurts, I strain my neck to look back up, to the top. _

_The soldiers are retreating, wary of Marius's threat to blow the place to bits. Enjolras fires a few shots, then backs down, easing off the edge. He looks down at me, eyes wide, scrambling downwards towards me. Men have started towards me, a group starting to greet their leader and to look at the newly fallen – me. I lay back, looking up at the darkening sky. _

"Mon ami_. You were very brave." Enjolras comes into view, gazing down at me. He swears upon realizing who, exactly, he's looking at. "Eponine." _

_The hat is removed, and I am cradled to his chest. I exhale – then wince. Breathing is growing painful. _

_Panicked, my friend's eyes sweep over me, fixating on the blooming scarlet against my shoulder. He's looking for something to fix. But there is nothing to be done. _

"_Eponine," he whispers again, hand stroking my thin cheek. "What are you doing here? I told you to stay back, you little fool."_

_I laugh. It hurts. "Love is foolish. This battle is foolish."_

_He ignores the slight. His eyes are watering. It's only then that I feel tears prick my own eyes. My hand rises to his chest, fingers stretching out, palm over his heart. I can feel his heartbeat. He mimics me, lips parting in despair. Our tender moment is punctured by the audience, though they are silent. _

"_Why did you come? Patria…." He strokes my hair and face. We're both growing wet with rain. The skies have truly opened. _

"_I figured that if you were going to die, I might as well die here with you. Though, I suppose I'm glad I'm set to go first, monsieur. I couldn't bear to live without you. Ever for a few hours."_

_It's a grim reality. He doesn't protest anything I say. A bitter smile grows on his lips. He looks up at the rain. _

"_It isn't fair." _

"_What, that you don't get to die first and leave me in grief?"_

_He manages something of a chuckle. "The rain…."_

"_No, no," I say, lightly as I can manage. "The rain is good. It washes away what's past. It helps the flowers grow."_

_I'm pulled closer. I wince. The pain has almost ceased, though. Now the only sensation I'm feeling is numb. All numb. I do not consider this particularly good. _

"_Eponine," he pleads. _

_But there is nothing to be done. _

"_The rain is not so bad…., Oh, don't fret. I don't feel any pain." I rasp. My chest heaves. It's begging for breath. "Oh, Enjolras, I'm at rest. I'll be at rest, in your arms. You'll keep safe, and close…and… You know, I think might be in love with you, monsieur." _

_He lets out a half-laugh-half sob. "I have no doubt that I love you."_

"_I'm just a breath away from where you are," I promise. "Enjolras." I strain to reach upward, making to kiss him. My eyes are growing heavy._

_Our lips meet. I feel such bliss – warmth, safety, light. And then -_

**-XXX-**

I jolt awake with a gasp. Blurry, misformed faces greet me. A few blinks, then everything begins to focus. About five people are kneeling, huddled around me, speaking softly. My wrist is in omeone's hand – for pulse? There is a great commotion all around. I struggle to sit, ignoring the protesting of my body and all of those surrounding me.

Another group has convened beside us, also surrounding a figure sprawled on the floor. It takes me a few seconds to realize that figure is Enjolras. I let out a low cry and lunge for him, cupping his face.

"Leo," I murmur. Everyone is watching – but I ignore them. "Leo, wake up, baby. Wake up!" I stroke his face. "Come on, what's up?"

"How weird," someone whispers.

"What's the chance that would happen at the same time?"

"Maybe it's drugs," another says. "He's got that whole rock-and-roll vibe going on. I could totally see them shooting up before class, or something."

Selznick is beside the computer, eyes wide. "I've sent a PA from the health center. They should be here soon," she tells me. "You're okay?"

My head hurts, but I assure her all is well enough. "What happened, Dr. Selznick?"

She shrugs. Now that she sees at least one of us is alive, she's realtively unphased. "You were in the middle of your presentation, and you begin to – to slow down. You fainted. Mr. Enjolras started 'freaking out,' as they say, but soon he too begin feeling a little drained. He passed out not too long after you, very distressed. Going for you, actually, when he faltered and fell. You were both out ten minutes." She blinks. "You can present again, next week."

"Thanks," I say, a little dryly.

That's about when Enjolras decides to wake up. One of my hands still cups his face, the other flat on his chest. He inhales sharply. It's a quick noise, one I scarcely catch. He's far more attractive in waking up than I could ever be. I turn automatically at the sound, staggered in my need to be near him. He blinks slowly, breathing deeply, staring straight up at the ceiling with blank blue eyes. I wait. My hands cling to his.

"Leo?" I ask, tentative.

His crystalline gaze turns to me. For a moment, I am struck by some mixture of fear and reluctance; what dreams might have come him now? Were they the same as mine? I am drawn breathless by his eyes.

"Eveline," he says quietly, voice halting. "Are you okay?"

My laugh is a little broken. "Yes, yes. Are _you _okay?"

His grip against my hand tightens. "Yes."

"Thank God," I whisper.

"Ms. Theard?"

I glance up to see Selznick above us, accompanied by a young-ish guy in turquoise scrubs. They're staring at us curiously. I could blush, but I cannot find that I truly care.

"The PA is here," Selznick says. He can escort you to the health center."

"Oh, I think we're find," Enjolras says, sitting up slowly. I hurry to help him to his feet.

"Really?" the PA asks wryly.

"Very," Leo manages.

"I'd still like to check you both out."

We exchange a glance. Leo shrugs. _"It can't hurt." _I would much rather discuss the incident in private than be poked, prodded, and questioned by a series of PAs and nurses, but he's right. It can't hurt. So, giving him my elbow for support, we stride steadily out of the classroom, the PA walking just behind us. On the trek over to the health center, we speak in hushed voices, wondering to ourselves, what, precisely, had occurred. But we cannot say much in front of a stranger.

Once at the health center we're taken to separate rooms and examined. My physician's assistant checks my eyes for signs of concussion, my pulse, my breath, and even my ears in a thorough examination. I am questioned – _"No, I've not had unprotected sex, ever. No, I've not felt faint over the last week. Yes, I ate breakfast. Two cups of coffee and half of a bottle of water. Maybe some orange juice at lunch. No, I don't feel dizzy or faint now."_ After approximately an hour we are released. Neither PA can precisely name what has afflicted both of us. We are simply told to drink plenty of water, and contact them if we have any repeated episodes.

"It would be best," one greying PA adds. "If neither of you were alone for the next twenty-four hours. Do you have friends or family here you might stay with? Roommates?"

Leo and I exchange a glance. The unspoken agreement passes between us in mere seconds.

"We'll figure it out," he assures them smoothly. "Now, do we have some kind of paperwork to fill out?"

**-XXX-**

Twin beds are not the most comfortable of places on which to share your space. But, laying on our sides, we make it work. Legs curled into one another, my back to his chest, we simply breath long, steady, shared breaths. It's been three hours since we fainted in class. We walked to my room in silence – we hadn't needed to discuss it. Coming here was nearly automatic.

Leo's fingers ghost my arms. I shiver against him.

"What is happening to us?" I ask softly. "It's like we're living in these dreams, together –"

"And dying," Leo interjects.

I agree. "I don't understand. They're not like real dreams…they're too real. And if you have them too, Leo, then…then…."

_"Then what?"_

Leo's bright eyes flash to mine. _"I don't know."_

"It's like another life. Dreams…or memories of another lifetime, another person."

My companion blinks. Once. Twice. On the third time he shifts.

"What if that's it?" he asks quietly

"Hm?"

My gaze is affixed on his hands, which have taken up mine. Tan and strong, they're tools of delicacy. My fingers thread through his, then squeeze.

"What if they're someone else's memories, Eveline?" His voice is hushed. "Past lives?"

For a long moment I am silent. Within that pause I shift, sitting up to face him. I am curious, though, concerned.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean reincarnation, Eveline," he says softly.

Under different circumstances I might have laughed. But today, right now, I am strickened with something akin to realization. It travels through my spine, to the base of my neck and across my scalp, surging through with great coldness. Leo, who has been avoiding my gaze since he began speaking, is now desperate to catch my eye. His are bright with concern. I cannot help to stare back blankly.

"Like. Coming-back-after-death-reincarnation?"

"Exactly."

I mull it over.

"It would make sense. The dreams of the battles and the café and the walks. We were there, Eveline. There, in the battles."

My head moves slowly, shaking. I remove my cold fingers from his hands, placing them on my temples to conduct a useless massage of the skin.

"But why?" he continues.

"I don't know." I pause. "Perhaps we're being punished. Or given a chance, seeing as we clearly missed the boat in the last lifetime."

He glances up sharply. "So, you do believe it, then? That we're merely recycled bits of another life? Reincarnated?" Bitterness and excitement both tinge his low voice. "Brought back by fate to play out miserable lives again – for what?"

"Do you really think that?"

"That our lives were miserable?"

"Yes," I concur. "And that they _are _miserable?"

Quietly, Leo says, "I think perhaps they were. Else…else we wouldn't be here now. For the moment however…." He meets my eyes, smiling faintly. "No. I'm not miserable."

I smile at that, then lean in for a soft kiss. "I am glad."

Against my lips, he murmurs, "How could I? We've won. My friends are all safe and sound and able to attend school without accumulating mountains of debt. And I've got you."

I pull back. "Do you now?"

He is solemn. "I do hope so."

My only reply is a kiss. We settle back into the mattress, calm.

"So."

"We might have past lives."

He looks down at me. "Not just that. But past lives of people that lived in the revolution. We were victims."

"You mean I was victim." I shake my head. "You were clearly a revolutionary."

Lips tugging into something as a smile, Leo shrugs. "Maybe."

"No maybe about it." I sober. "And we died."

"Yes," he agrees. "I wonder…the whole fight against the administration, Congress, was that…our version? Our rebellion."

This is to be considered.

"If so, we fared far better this time." Humming, I move closer. "And that's all that matters, right?"

Softly, he presses a kiss into my forehead. "Yes."

We don't speak on the matter again that night. Instead, we fall silent, lying side-by-side, until we drift off to sleep – and away from shared dreams.

**-XXX-**

**This really doesn't feel complete to me, but I feel like this is the time to wrap things up. I'd like to personally thank each of you for sticking with me through this beast. It was great to give Les Mis a go, I might try it again, but for the moment I'm going to focus on more original works. **

**Again, thank your for the support. I hope you've enjoyed this little AU modern thing, haha! **


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